Do Better
• Written by Reaper
I'm that good, I'm under his mistletoe.
They all could, go down for my whistle blow .
Fuck them they jelly.
I eat rappers like chicken deli.
No need for these inconsiderate degenerates.
If I'm not talking sex,
then my rhetoric is only moderate?
I tell shit how I see it.
My confidants have dusty relations.
I'm fighting with my clumsy patience.
But my boat floats, showing lenience.
Cause the way I flex ain't no joke.
Fakies smoke broke.
Lifes a bed of roses.
I embrace opposes.
Had a few words with featherbrains.
They do better being plain janes.
I don't play ring around the rosy.
Niggas wished I made their beds cozy.
Pardon my pretty stance.
My perfect cadence expands.
It's another cake walk for the hounds.
The Dame got your mouths.
I'm sick of niggas talking,
like they got the dick.
Why the bitches gotta suck it quick?
Screw them niggas that all flawless.
I'm back balling fearless.
See I'm making money plans.
Get it stacked then call it honey grans.
Looking back I'm already on the forbes list.
Me dropping corpses guess the morgue switched.
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About the Artist
Reaper
Member since November 26 2013