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Howell's favorite as*h**e Live from the backroads Can’t say that you dig this sh*t Hit [?] on the ride home So nice on this microphone Y'all don't even f**king know But they say I’m bipolar The way I'm so cold with these f**kin' flows Flows, I got a pocket full You trippin' like you got a [knot] in y'all Y'all should've saw your face when you heard Th@ Kid knockin' at your f**kin’ door Bang Bang, who is it? Skinny kid, looks boolemic I admit it, I been spittin’ Out these rhymes Since I was an infant I'm a scholar, you’re a peasant YoungDumbf**k get it trough your head that It's the team, oh it's the team In the dug out, gettin' faded Rap out real in, you just fake it Talk that money like you already made it Kid just stop it You don’t got it Like a pass down to the basement You can't come here You ain't from here I promise you've never been Down D-19 at 4am In and out of consciousness Too much smoke Too much drink Tangerade bottle in the kitchen sink We all drunk We all f**ked up We can't think We can't speak But we can live, we can breathe We're gonna take more damn drinks Walk across the streets to your mom's house Take whatever she got in that damn fridge Too young, too blind Lookin' at life trough high eyes Eyelids down, middle finger's up May the 517 please stand up //
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