​voicemail

[Verse]
Yeah, waitin’ in the mud for the train (Fuck)
I’m a hundred miles up, two hundred dollars down
Boogie man on a bike in a block full of clowns
(Ain’t it funny how not a damn thing changed)
Yeah, that should be me in that range
That should be me in that range
I got range
Bitch, I got range
Bitch I got a blade on the pulse and I’m drained
Take your life
Still searching for the answers (Whoa)
Waiting for the dancers to arrive
I should sit this one out
Cracks in the jewel case
Speaking in tongues, I walk with dogs
I cannot see the light, still
Cross me out, cross me out

Chateua with the fish bones
Dish pan with the guts in it
I drive a drop top limousine
You could park a motherfucking bus in it
Ginger ale with the grenadine
Stretch the dough with some semolina

I do it all for my family
But I don’t think they got Facetime in heaven
If I move different when its my time to leave
I just hope they send you this message

I just hope they send you this message

[Outro]
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How are you gonna talk about eating the rich on one song and then talk about all that ice on your wrist (inaudible) on another?
That shit don’t make any sense
You broke and you sound dumb
And if I ever catch you out and about, I'mma rough you up something fierce, pal, and that’s on my daddy
This is for Will Crooks and if this is not his number can somebody tell him that Tony said, “Will Crooks is a fucking coward”
Do not call me back