I stay trippin’ through life. College boy Jack Sparrow. Compared with how hard I try, still Easy Wide of straight and narrow. Number of close calls I had would chill your bones down to the marrow. Tomorrow’s a borrowed tarot, uncertain as Erol’s airshow. Man I’m a pharaoh, monumental in this bitch among these stencil pencil dicks waitin’ for a prince with a pen. Hope the slipper fits. Best thing about your shit’s the beat. Think I might hit a lick. I had to spit, get a fix of truth. Kinda cruel but don’t throw a hissy fit. These prissy bitches busy switchin’ they positions, hypocritin’ on religion, gettin’ shitty: bad decisions. Woops! I been there but I got a mission. Just hopin’ I could be different. Ya feerl meh? Coolio, coolio, indisputably groovy flow. Slick, slick, slick, slick. Coolio, coolio, That tutti frutti booty woah what? Motha fucka. I’m on my Groucho shit: big glasses, stupid moustache. Once I’m a household hit won’t ever have to make a comeback. Yo on the down low, my business is committed but I could use some slack or some love taps. Gotta get my ass in gear, go big. No cutbacks. My buzz is at that thunderclap man I could sit and chill a sec. I’m wobblin’. Brain is throbbin’. Hit that bong for like a millisec. Yeah, and then another, then another. Been a mess but next I guess I’ll rise above aha! Motha fucka, I been up on my game tryna make myself a name recording stories of pride and shame. Shoutout New Orleans livin’ in that pourin’ rain, but it’s all good. Someday I’ll make that hall of fame. Coolio, coolio, tell your friends my music’s dope.. Slick, slick, slick, slick. Coolio, Coolio, sit back, relax, enjoy the show. We got a long way to go down the rabbit hole.

I did it again. Of course she’s got a boyfriend. This is like time 75 and counting. I can’t even pretend I like gettin’ with girls with men, but as soon as she arrived she was rebounding. I wasn’t counting on this. Kind of astounding. Not really my shit. Couldn't tell you how it happened. We sat back and took our time. And I had a stupid mustache but she didn't seem to mind. Then it went from drunk to sober and turned into something more, ‘cause girl you’re chill as fuck for sure. And we never know where we’re going, but who cares? It’s a side of me that’s showing that I forgot was there. But I gotta make it clear: Sorry for how I leave your neck. Probably best not to look in the mirror. And this song is kinda writin’ itself. Just sayin’ don’t want this to be weird. I just hope the disclaimer helped,. but I’ve no fear.. "I’m"s turned into "we’re." The radio plays love songs that all sound the same but this is absolutely certainly not like that. I'm just kind of amazed I don't at all find it strange that we can rage, jump over gates, or paint our bikes swag. And I feel fine askin' you this: Wanna get high and laugh at stupid shit? And I love how when my jokes are dumb you still will play along. Tank I'm oh so deeply honored that I got you on a song. Fuck a label Let it suffice to say I'm yours, 'cause girl you're chill as fuck for sure. And we never know where we're going but who cares. It's a side of me that's showing that I forgot was there. But I gotta make it clear: Most girls would have to dip, if when watchin' Taylor swift their man broke down in tears. I'm just tryna keep this song legit. Hope that it didn't arouse any fears. It's just hard to make the words all fit, but I'm being sincere. I'm glad that you're here. And I know that when you're by my side we might make the worst decisions of our lives, but it'll be alright. When I'm taking us down a bad road, you lead from behind and keep us safe. Never break a stride. You're beautiful in and outside. And I'm lucky to call you mine.

I love my life as a dickhead x2 I love my life as a dickhead. All my driends are dickheads too. Come with me. Let’s be dickheads. Bein’ a dickhead’s cool. Haven’t you heard? Bein’ a dickhead’s cool. At this point it’s just annoying to deny being a hipster, but I hear it so often it’s rubbin’ raw like it’s a blister. Where I’m from that shit’s an insult worth a punch right to the kisser, but I’m over it. Won’t throw a fit. I see the bigger picture, and my swag’s become a fixture, bitch, so take some fucking notes, and admire all the mixtures of my swagger stupid clothes. Yeah, this song is kinda dumb, but it’s reactionary so I’m a product of my environment. That’s time well spent fa sho. When I say, “No I’m not,” don’t tell me, “that’s what hipsters say.” and if you say some shit don’t be surprised when I get in your face. I’m just tired, oh so tired, of being labeled every day, and that complaint’s fuckin’ annoyin’. Hate that it’s one I gotta make. So please, please, please make no mistake and think I’m something that I’m not. I don’t have a stupid Tumblr filled with stupid indie shots, and I don’t walk around in public hummin’ the newest indie rock. I’m just a dude who can appreciate a pair of argyle socks. Hook And yeah my bike’s got one gear but it’s not a fixie. SHUT THE FUCK UP. Course my glasses are fuckin’ real. Stupid bitch please SHUT THE FUCK UP. Yeah I bought this at Goodwill. Man, it kinda fits me. You’re just stuck up. Rich kids suck, but I don’t need duckets to look fresh as fuck motha sucka. I got luck. It’s on my side every time I walk into a thrift store. Find the coolest shit. I rule at this. The king, hope I don’t hit yours. Spend a dollar. Look like gualla. Fresh to def, yep, when I dip forth. Nice Oakley’s. bet you paid like $140 ‘less you hit a bumfuck outlet store. Dumbass. Forget I said that. I’ll keep spittin’. I’ll admit that I’m unusual. Won’t deny it. I just like lookin’ fly, gettin’ high, and makin’ musical creations all explainin’ what’s on my brain. If you listen you would know I’m not a fuckin’ hipster. I just need shit to be beautiful. Hook

I’m just a kid from Atlanta livin’ down in New Orleans. All these fools at my school so rich you could say I’m one of the poor kids. I don’t get to go home this summer. They be like, “Oh you poor kid.” And I’m like “hell yeah,” just hope this shit’s not too borin’." I’ll just stick to recordin’, work a job, find people to chill with. People who deal and people who feel me on the appeal of a full spliff. Yeah my sitch not too bullshit, but It’s still my fault. I’m the culprit. This my year to suffer ‘cause handcuffs kill my license to pull shit. Yeah, my license was pulled quick when I refused to comply, which is why I’m stayin’ down here. I won’t have to catch a ride to make a dime. I’ll ride my bike or hop a streetcar. I’ll be fine. Yeah, I’ll miss my homies too much, but I’ll learn a few things, spread my wings, and fly. Fuel the fire of my dreams. Won’t retire ‘til I’m king. Tilt my head back to the sky and cry. Maybe I’ll be home next year. Man, I couldn't really tell ya. A year’s a long time, but as of now I’m like hell yeah. Gets me down, but then well yeah, missin’ memories, my fellas. They’ll compel ya, but when there’s no one checkin’ up there’s no rebellion. I’m revelin’ at the prospect of that workin’ atmosphere. Food for thought: that FruityLoops will be my brain’s favorite meal. I got a deal. That’s how I’ll cope with both a desk job and my peers. Fuckin’ summer school, feel bad for you. I’m here ‘cause my parents’ will. Which is cool. I’ll make the best of it. My fault options are limited. But they’ll pay me pretty well. I’ll make at least a couple Benjamins. Mom said shit’ll be sweet, but I’m conflicted, more like cinnamon. I’ll miss my friends, straight solo dolo chillin’ like a villain man. Yeah, until we chill again… Shit. I’ll miss y’all ‘til the end. Lord have mercy on me. We’re talkin’ about two different things. Bad decisions and life when you’re 19. Lord have mercy on me. The thing I’m mostly worried about is livin’ in a ghost town, though it’ll probably do me good to take a second and slow down, drop a record, and show how I can conquer this whole town. Least it’ll be a baby step to gain respect through my dope sounds. Lemme give ya the low down: Plan to plan to get some shows. Kill at least a couple of sets maybe my following will grow. I’m just hoping for the best, believe in myself, and fuck it who knows? Man, I’m in in for the love. I’ll take this shit as far as it goes. Pump the brakes, man. Put it on hold. Duckin’ back into the laboratory. When you’re workin’ a desk job is it straight to dip use the lavatory? Take a trip, buy a pack, and pour me a Coke and Jack celebratory? Ha probably not. Chill out. That way I’m back for more see I’ma do this shit and best believe I’ll do it right. Though I've fucked up in the past, I refuse to add woes to my plight like. I hate I gotta say it, but suspicions creep and crawl down the hall of my awareness. I’m uneasy, can’t be calm because I’m Sketchy McSketchball all the time. My back’s up against the wall. I been in and out of courtrooms. Feel like the other foot’s about to fall. I been stayin’ out of trouble. Well, I’ll put it relatively. Even though I’m still a dumbass, NOPD’s not out to get me. I been checkin’ things off my list, and my probation officer is friendly, plus in a year and a couple months ya boy will achieve that one and twenty. Yeah, so though your hood rapper’s rap sheet’s longer than mine, I aspire to be a good boy. I don’t wanna do no time or pay no fines. One of my best friends is in jail probably 25 years to life, and last week almost put me there too. Lucky I had a witness on my side. Falsely accused, Lord if you can really hear me I need a new life or don’t let coppers roll up near me. Please have mercy on me.

They say you should count your blessings and appreciate your roof, food, and bed. They say to count your blessings, but I live for tomorrow and amidst all these sorrows blessings can be easy to forget. I’m tryna clean up my act but it’s proving to be difficult. Tryna cut back’s not sittin’ well with all my womenfolk. Can’t be on both of these tracks. Well I guess I was, but now I’m convicted. Woah. A criminal. My principles are pitiably bendable. Fuck, I’m finna go and probably make some plans, probably hang out with some friends, hit a party, maybe dance. Yeah I’ll drink. Feels incomplete without a High Life in my hand. I just wish I had more self control. Y’all probably understand. Yeah y’all probably thinkin’ “Damn, He’s not really gonna stop.” And you know what fuckin’ sucks is that I’m probably not. Just a thought: Look at all those kids never started drinkin’, smokin’ pot. They be chillin’. They’re not feelin’ like they missed a golden opportunity, that’s you and me. Man, light a blunt to this. I don’t practice what I preach. I’m just a fuckin’ hypocrite. If you don’t drink or don’t smoke weed then you will never need to quit or get in trouble. Life broken, rubble. Tryna make the puzzle pieces fit. Shit. Hook Sometimes I get in this mood where I’m feelin’ like a fuck up and my friends all get confused like, “goodie, shut the fuck up Dude. You kinda fuckin’ rule at school and shit but still get fucked up!” but I still be feelin’ shitty. Man, my life could use a butt plug or some drugs. Let’s puff one. I’m a bad influence on myself. “But it’s just some bud, son. Not tryna fuck with too much else.” Man, shut the fuck up brain. You know it’s you I’m trna help, plus my body would be sorry to be sittin’ in a cell. Man, I’ve already been to jail. Not tryna go back even a little bit. In the video let the F bomb slip. Wish I had just said “fiddlesticks.” Lady Luck’s a fickle bitch and I struck out. I missed the pitch. I wanna blow my head off. I can almost feel the pistol grip. That’s a bit dramatic, but regret’s a shit sensation. I’m a hazard to myself. Pink get’s my inner deprivation. My motivation isn't health and I do fine with education, But I’m scared of what I choose to do in sketchy situations. Don’t feel quite myself. I can’t eat. Too much work to do. Who needs sleep? Should I try anymore? Like I did. What’s the only way out? Bite the bullet. Hook

I got a folder called “Charlie” in my Yahoo.com email where I save his gnarly Photoshops and songs for me to retell, and it was in that thing I noticed my bro is a fiend for detail ‘cause he used that Saucy Millionaire every time that he’d spell that G double O- D- I- E and whatever album title. And though it took me a while to see it consistency is vital. Even if it’s just a font it spells my history compiled, and that brings to mind the thought of the future and why I’m writin’. What I’m dreamin’, can I see it? Could it ever really happen? It seems so unlikely I don’t let myself get dragged in, but I wanna be different. Man, fuck business. Fuck a tie and jacket. it’s so unrealistic to make bank by strummin’ and a-rappin’. It’s my passion, but it’s so uncertain. What will be my fate? I feel like I’m just a has-been though I've never tasted fame. When I look at Tyler and at Mac… Man, we’re pretty much the same age, but I've only done a single show. I gotta get back on stage. I’m a saucy millionaire without a penny anywhere and I’m not sure if many care about my music’s silly flair. Fuck! What do I do? Man, what the hell am I tryna pursue? I wish I knew. But I've got some appreciation and internal motivation. Add representation to the equation and I got a chance to make it. ‘Til then it’s a hobby for a fool. And though I’m dedicated to creatively creatin’… (Just be patient) I guess I’d better stay in school. And while I hate to go and ask myself these big ass fucking questions, and although this shit’s for me, as it’s my enrichment and reflection, I think it might be worth it to just step back for a second and inspect shit while I’m workin’ on “coolio slick,” my third collection. ‘Cause if I made it I don’t really know what that means. Is it just a life of touring, fuckin’ bitches, smokin’ mad G’s? Would I love it? Would it get boring? Would I feel alone with me and hate my songs, lose my friends, and sell out hard to MTV? Fuck that shit. At this point it don’t even matter. Especially if I quit and give up dreams of bein’ a Rapper Music Master. I’ll admit I don’t know if that’s what I’m after so for now I’ll make some music, keep my grades up, and combat the consciousness I have inside of the inevitable approach of adulthood mediocrity, be my kid’s soccer coach. See how they block the goal as I sit on the bench full of reproach for myself, what I've become, on my back wigglin’ like a roach. Hook

The novelty’s worn off. Monotony is all that’s left. My destiny has unexpectedly hit a wall. Oh, when I think honestly on the dimensions of my measly reality, it seems to be 2D, incomplete. There’s you, there’s me, and the people I greet that seem so out of reach. Human interaction has unforeseen complexities. Shit would have been so different if it didn't happen how it did, met different kids in those few fateful days. Whether lame or great I sealed my fate. When I evaluate it’s hard to say. I've used this line previously, but fuck what you heard. I’m writin’ the words and goddamn it I could use a change. I’m just not sure what that means. Tell me. The trajectories of destiny are strange, can’t be explained. These things have been established. No room for me unfortunately. And it’s too late. I've waited too long, content to remain on the outskirts watchin’ people move on. I know your name. I smile and wave. I hope that you will respond, but it’s just become a ritual. Nothin’ more than superficial. Though it’s nice, that’s not the issue. More disappointing than wrong. This is a promise to myself: Got cards up my sleeve additionally to the ones I've been dealt.

Mama who bore me, Mama who gave me no way to handle things, who made me so sad. Mama, the weeping. Mama, the Angels. No sleep in Heaven or Bethlehem. Some pray that one day Christ will come a'callin'. They light a candle and hope that it glows. And some just lie there crying, wait for Him to find them, but when He comes they don't know how to go. I came out butt-first, been a rebel since day one. Mom, I’m sorry that from my birth I've been the more difficult son, but I always had to do my thing. It’s ingrained, and my brain’s dumb when it comes to bein’ strange, and havin’ a little bit too much fun. Seems every single generation has to deal with some more shit. Through my trials and tribulations y’all have been so supportive. Never tried to hold me back, throw in the towel, take a bow, or forfeit. I could never f-forget all the shit you handle f-for me. Damn, I can’t imagine how it’d be to raise my children just willin’, hopin’, and prayin’ they don’t stray from religion, don’t get taken to prison, don’t smoke weed like a chimney. I’m guilty of each offense. Too good to be true but I’m forgiven. Teriffic! Know it’s not condoned, but acceptance alone is such a blessin’. Tryna figure my shit out, not get fucked over, learn my lesson. Now Dad knows I’m goodie too. Feels how I deal with present oppression. Mom for president. Not a question, medicine to fend off depression. Get the message. Hook I speak my mind. You aren’t understandin’ me. Can we truly not communicate? I thought we was a family tree. I know Papa ain’t plan for me. I felt the damage when he ran from me, and not after me. So it’s hard to listen when you tell me to live happily. Way too many questions in my past nobody’s answerin’. But Mama carried me and, yeah we were charity and, Yeah it was embarrassing. No tears were not a rarity, but The civil line in this time, Mama couldn't find it, but because she tried, she was sublime. She was a giant. She provided all she could But this still the hood. Tall trees. All good. I love ya, not because this bastard has to. We gon’ make it out. You’ll awake in a castle. You an angel. I’m a little rascal But you will not miss the Rapture.

It's all the same. Only the names will change, and every day it seems we're wasting away. Yo my name is goodie G but you can call me, you can call me call me Mr. Fuckin’ Skin and Bones. I’m wastin’ away. It’s miserable how all these chemicals are drainin’ my strength. Ribs pokin’ out ‘cause I’m a victim of my limitless play. My typical day’s epitomal of habitual criminal claims. My venerable ways boil down to good grades and good intentions. Precision’s admissions mention self assessment’s a decision. Introspection, how ya livin’, is indefinitely a given ‘less you make improvements choosin’ to lose delusions, condescension. Fondle women. Ha, Bon Jovi only the names will change, but that depends on what you after. Man, my ego’s pretty straight, and you can take that how you want. I couldn't give a fuck ‘bout what you think. Coulda, woulda, shoulda fucked that whats-her-face, but man, I ducked, made my escape. I could take yo slut, make her my date, then contemplate how I’d corrupt her. Got a lover so I’m straight, but it might be fun to have another. I’m a vagabond. My swag is on that homeless undercover. I aim to take my shot, blow that smoke. I’m a cowboy motha fucka. I’m a cowboy. On a steel horse I ride. And I’m wanted dead or alive. Sometimes I sleep. Sometimes is not for days, and the people I meet always go their separate ways. “Oh hey wassup?” We talk a bit. Then I dip and ride into the sunset on my steel horse, that Swagasaurus Rex. My bike is the best. You love it, so come get on my pegs. Let’s have some fun yet. Gold rims racin’, ride off guns blazin’. Uh-oh wait! That’s just the blunt tip. My lungs rip, or some shit. Time to move on to a new topic, yeah that’s pertinent: I hurt and yearn for friendship, though I got it, but it just serves a surface purpose: Pass time and dine with people talkin’. Man I need true bros. The ones I know from home are fuckin’ awesome. Here I’m the Lone fuckin’ Ranger and I like to keep my distance, though I got a li’l boo thang, which is weird, but I’m kinda committed. Gotta get with it. Goddamn Independence is a bitch much as a gift. I’m not interested. It’s my business but I got insufficient riches. What’s the difference? I don’t even know. I’m chill, man. I know people. Fear no evil. I’m busy as fuck so a quiet phone is kinda peaceful, plus shit’s G. I’m havin’ fun. I’m young, illegal with some diesel. I’m the Cisco Kid reincarnate shootin’ from the hip. Shit’s lethal. I’m a cowboy. On a steel horse I ride And I’m wanted dead or alive. I’m wanted dead or alive.

I walk. I pick my way through the lonely trees. I've got you trailing behind me. You are the essence of uncertainty. Let’s just pretend it’s only you and me for now. I don’t know what you mean to me just yet, or even if I’d be worth it. Do I really wanna be what you say you crave, or would it just be kinder just to walk away? Let’s investigate. You wish I’d keep this simple situation, but I can’t stand by and watch this exploitation. No. They say all’s fair so I’ll fight somehow. You can wear a scarf, but I won’t stop stressin’ you out. Hook Would it be manipulative to say that maybe we could be perfect? Probably, but I play to win, and I refuse to tie with him. Hook

I’m a college boy chillin’ in an opportune position tryna earn some recognition, make some music, find my mission. I will find my way. I will go the distance. I’ll be there someday, and maybe if I’m lucky I’ll be money double-fistin’. They say, “write ‘bout what you know,” but my life is so limited. All I do is ride my bike and think of the percentage of My time spent gettin’ high compared to hittin’ the gym and shit And one’s bigger than the other. Hey man, which one is the gym again? I hit this shit and hold it in and wing it left like politics can’t talk for shit. My cough’s redic, but it’s becomin’ obvious that I’ve built up a tolerance. Straight hittin’ bowls like off the pitch. Just goin’ to class and writin’ raps and chillin’ on a scholarship. Album two has dropped and it’s pretty cool. Check “talkin’ shit.” But I’m back on my grind for album three. Man, I can’t call it quits. Flow insane like lost my wits. I go deranged like tossin’ kids Off of buildings, fall through ceilings, spill their brains out on the bricks. Goddamn! I went and lost myself a bit. My bad I’m trippin’ lost my shit, but I digress. I’m on the fritz. I’ma take this time to consciously come out of the abyss And honestly evaluate my mission in this bitch. Hook And so I step into the night lookin’ up at Orion I need to pull myself together. Where my friends? I’m tryna find ‘em. Think I spy ‘em but I’m stopped. Drunk bitches they askin’ why I try to skirt beside ‘em I’m alright but y’all are lookin’ wild. Fire style is my forte shit but I don’t even know what’s My mission in this bitch. Man I’m workin’ on it. Hold up. All y’all jerks that know what they want out of this life can suck my butt. Makin’ music’s what I love. Whatever, whatever, I’ma smoke a fat blunt. And maybe if I’m lucky then I’ll make a fat kajillion. Give my mom a zillion, and, eh, throw Dad a billion. Don’t delude myself. Know my chances are one in a million But that don’t change the fact that on the mic I’m one in a trillion So yeah I’m stuntin’. I kill for my fuckin’ area code And maybe build up a following I can carry back home. All y’all dogs rappin’ in the screets go ‘head and bury ya bone. This shit is coolio slick. I do it all on my own. It’s goodie. Hook

What you tryna go for a ride? Well shit, I’m Swagasaurus cruisin’. Kinda swervin’. I been boozin’ but BUI’s an institution. Straight up laughin’ at y’all losers. Drunk ass bitch pull down ya dress You stumbling stupid. See ya hoohoo. I’m like haha not the move. Shit! This is the movement. Get with it or get the fuck on. Shit hittin’ this clip to get in my zone Straight ill in this bitch to rep for my home. Yeah ya boy is from Atlanta. Haven’t been there in so long Producin’ these tunes for my amusement. Tell my stories through my songs. Shout out to Andre, both Ice Cold and poppin’ bottles. Got no gualla. Not a problem. Like 5 dollars throw that throttle Swallow shots chase wrong and cough. Life’s pretty hard when you’re in college. Smoke a bowl or smoke a blunt? These big decisions hard to call yo. It’s hard to follow what you say when I don’t care But a 3.94 GPA is straight so kiss my derrierre. Sorry I just brought up school but it’s the only area where. I’ve got room to brag. Can’t catch no slack. Life’s all too fair and square. But it’s out of sight, out of mind. Live day by day. Wait for the weekend. I refuse to admit defeat. Won’t sleep ‘til I indulge some sort of weakness. How I see it you’re only young so long so motha fuck an inner demon. See a therapist you pussy. As for me you know I keep it keep it G as fuck mane. Don’t know no other way to live. ‘Til the day that I die I’ll be a gangster. Try me bitch. Probably not the dude that you’d expect to see talkin’ all this shit. I’m a good boy but I rocked it. Don’t be shocked this coolio slickness. Blow mom some kisses. Hook

Dear Alex, could you tell me something please. Oh Alex, how does it feel to be half ninjanese? Dear Alex, you speak Belgian like a pro. Oh Alex, there’s just somethin’ that I got to know. ‘Cause I've got somethin’ on my mind and I gotta spit it out, but first I think I’ll just build some suspense. And I wasn't sure at first, but I think I've got it figured out, and now I’m pretty much positively convinced so I thought I’d write a song, which is pretty clear by now. I just thought I’d state the obvious. There’s not much longer left to wait ‘til I’ll have to scream and shout and maybe even let me question slip. Dear Alex, girl I wrote this all for you. Oh Alex, from 1 am ‘til almost 2. Dear Alex, what are your plans for April 23rd? Oh Alex, will you go to prom with me, a fellow yearbook nerd? I really hope that you said yes because I already wrote this part… Things started off wonderful, shiny, and bright. Got a date. She showed up late, but she was radiatin’ light. Dinner was great, dance was straight, then towards the night we turned our sights. Senior prom: nothin’s wrong with chillin’, feelin’ a little right. I filled up some liquid might in a water bottle from my car. Evan Williams, so appealin’. My string bag minibar. And of course I came equipped with a roller and papers. We grabbed our shit, walked in, and hit the downstairs and backyard. Under the stars, just chillin’, reminiscin’, and sittin’ around the fire. Takin’ pictures and shit. Thinkin’ how we’d miss ‘em when summer had transpired. Thinkin’ how we’d almost graduated, how we’re goin’ higher ‘til somethin’ pissed on our parade. On Easter I was tired ‘cause I had to stay up super late. The cops came through the door. Didn't knock, just kinda came in. Hope that shit don’t hold up in court. Little spiky-headed motha fucka, 23 acts 44. Just lucky I didn't get fucked as hard as I could have. Coulda been worse. When they came in, man, I stomped the J. They said it smelled like drugs, but not a single soul would say. Forreal, my friends were on their thug shit. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7 cops showed up. When they started writin’ tickets for people without ID knew we all were fucked. I haven’t yet been to court although that was many months ago. Even though I paid a lawyer not sure how high to get my hopes, and now I’m a repeat offender. Fuck my life. That’s how it goes. Cops just tryna fuck you over. Keep it chill. It goes to show.