I know I'm not a master
But I go, harder than, my past semesters
I'm the florist in the scene smoking up my green
Grind the wood and then I get to roll
That's my night routine
Smoking up ironically I'm climbing up the tree
Cuz I'm, getting too high, off the fucking leaves
Melody, I contribute to the cadency
Till the sight I see that someone steals there's no leniency
Run up on the kid, I know what your intention is
Don't think they all calling me the witch cuz I don't got a stick
Closet got some anger issues always throwing fits
Ice looking like they fresh out the oven, gotta wear some mitts
I don't got a hunnid chains to match my fucking clothes
I spit, top lip, then lick, cuz that's how I
Cuz that's how I roll man
For real, real talk