I wrote this rhyme on my death bed//
Getting mad head//
From Astrid//
I make it rain with mad ends//
Excuse me ya'll, I'm gone off the medication//
Mentally, I'm on a vacation//
Gone off the lean, no soda//
Got a fever hot enough to roast ya//
I'll toast ya for the bread//
Die young and leave a fly corps is what some1 said//
Not sure if I agree with that//
But I'm fly, need room for my wings flap//
Even in sickness, still about my qwap//
Opps, I mean my qwop//
Still letting the lo lo's drop//
Born at the bottom, only place to go is the top//
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