is this from the one I posted on the gram 

i cut the music off in my whip just to hear my engine talk
how you let all them opps just buss on yo hood 
and not one get touched
i’m on that psycho shit
i’m swinging the axe i’m knocking em off
ain’t none of my enemies living today
i just smoked all of em up

i just put my opps in a blunt
i just put the opps in my blunt
these niggas just dyin to be me
said rest in piss lil punk
you ain’t on shit
i feel like hardy in 2001
you posted up on ig with a lil prop that you say is a pump
if we talking 1v1 is you gonna buss that toy or what
if we bout to slide on the block is you gonna try to go hop out and run
i can’t worry bout nothing but me
i ain’t worried bout nothing but me
got a bat on the back on my tee
i can’t speak on the shit that i see

i’m on that rick james swag
i jump on the couch while i’m wearing my rafs
now none of you niggas is holding me back
you don’t even do all the shit that you rap
you don’t do none of that shit cuz you cap
you can’t even back up the shit that you chat
i told you fuck niggas i’m so many eons ahead

Demon Chat (prod. Luca Malaspina)

Birkenstock Ricks

Maison2500xJayTrench - Pill (Think About It Sometimes)*live rip*

Maison2500 - My Jean Cost A Brick

🍂 Atlanta became a verse. The Poet drifted through the city, linking up with old spirits — laughter and cake with Monica, her smile still soft like autumn light. Conversations spilled past midnight, the kind that make time feel like a memory on replay.

Friends appeared, new faces meeting the silence that follows The Poet’s name. Sheik, still shielding his heart, sat quiet — Monica already knowing the language of his love. Then she came… the one who met The Poet before the best friends, the one who switched sides, showing up speaking of a baller — a play-her wrapped in illusions.

Now the air is colder, the trees whisper 11s in celestial green. The Poet stands cloaked in yellow light, unbothered by old ties testing his wounds. 🍁 No more band-aids for heartbreak. Only verses, only truth.

That night, the moon opened an eye — white, ancient, marked with 24. Through it, The Poet spoke with Celestial Drizzy, a second verse born in starlight, where reflection met rhythm and autumn met infinity. 🌙✨

#1046  #CelestialDrizzy #Autumn  #11Cloak

Birkenstock Ricks

DJ Cual-Omet

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