Your simple words just don't move me: you're minor, we're major
You're all up in the game and don't deserve to be a player
Don't make me have to call your name out
Your crew is featherweight, my gunshots'll make you levitate
I'm only 19, but my mind is old
When the things get for real, my warm heart turns cold
Another ♥♥♥♥♥ deceased, another story gets told
It ain't nothin' really, ayo Dun, spark the Philly
So I can get my mind off these yellow-backed ♥♥♥♥♥♥
Why they still alive? I don't know, go figure
Meanwhile back in Queens the realness and foundation
If I die, I couldn't choose a better location
When the slugs penetrate, you feel a burnin' sensation
Gettin' closer to God in a tight situation
Now take these words home and think it through
Or the next rhyme I write might be about you