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grow how you grow.

in the late nite

my nigga rich. dat boi good. 

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she singing, “bitch i’m paid, that’s all i gotta say.” i’m like who knew, who knew, who knew, that after all the years i’d make a weezy fan out of you too, you too, you too. when i met you, you were thom yorke, chris martin & u2, u2, u2. when you met me i was three6, pimp c, bun b, 8ball & mjg. but we’re both a long way from home, we got the windows down, the radio’s on..always. i wrote a letter to the sky, saying maybe one day you’ll get to kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. my girl found it in the car & said “baby why you trying to diss me, diss me, diss me.” cuz you know you’re my baby, you know you’re my baby. i’m not just in it for the ride. in it for the ride…

-5

django was ill without it.