#mbeeredit

I don't speak boyshit.

When the rain comes pouring down, to wash away your crown, you're the king of nothing now.

Tongue taste like liquid poison, medicine for my inner voices, can't drown these static noises, I tried.

You got blood on your hands, how do you plead? Boy, it's like treason how you treated me. It's eight Mondays in a row, nine days of the week. These tantrums been old, all bitter, no sweet.