I don’t write like this but y’all like it like this.

Stupid customers won’t buy unless it’s twice ignorant.
Like, iced-up wrists so cold that its quite frostbit
With a hue rather blue cause its minus six, degrees.
Watch my other hand I tell time with
Face big like the windshield of the cockpit.
In that red-eye plane, me and five young dames
But I should call ‘em dimes, fifty-cents, it’s all the same.
Before I continue and you disdain
Let me explain to you what’s on my frame:
A fresh pair of Jordans, I never even wore them
By the time I take ‘em off I will probably abhor them.
My designer jeans were designed it seams
With platinum needles and solid gold stitching.
Unspoiled, unsoiled, no patch, so clean.
Got you all frowned up now you know that’s mean.
A pressed white-T under my fresh wife-beat.
Domestically it arrests to my knees.
Handcuff links to my pinky ring
And my pimp cup shines, or should I say it sheens.

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