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— Lyrics —
I ain’t trippin’ off being the illest the wheel is turning.
The realest in this is still to be determined. Feel the burning?
More than capable of going ape. A flow can get wrecked.
But I’d rather kick a written from scars that I ain’t forget yet.
My scabs still bloody. My hands still muddy.
Do my dirt all by my lonely or I’ll holler at my cutty.
How I’m feeling so blessed, when I’m still in the struggle tough?
I ain’t pushing gum at the corner for quarters trying to juggle stuff.
I keeps it gully. On tracks, I’m a monster, Sully.
From the golden state, sunny. Nose runny like rose money.
Only sniffin to catch a whiff of pimping letters to beats.
Word on the streets? Wild beast, Varsity letterman.
Spark the medicine. One of the illest S.D. residents.
Los Angeles bred, Tre Dime President. For the elements.
For all who didn’t know or forgot.
They call me Kahlee. All my Latinos and Polys bout to make shit pop.