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Chris South Baby- Story Telling

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  • Chris South Baby- Story Telling

    Once upon a time upon a hot day in hell
    There sat a little lad on the corner telling tales
    But his purpose was to sell death beds to every dope head
    Simply releasing them from dread
    Selling out escape routes to get out all the images
    But yet alone he sits lone imagining his friends
    Him, and himself are selling a tread of rope, and at the end
    Hangs all the empty souls trapped ready to explode
    Ready for competition against hell or heaven my nigga you pick your very road
    And yet alone he sits imagining
    It's the product that exposes every single exoskeleton trapped in every closet
    Disposing of their dreams to one day earn their doctorate
    Become a doctor, and like a trait they kids might adopt it
    But drop that cause like a fiend a pusher does anything to unlock those fantasies like a lock smith
    I got early bird dirty cheap come on baby cop quick
    Police flee swift, and like a dentist they shove cushion against they fillings
    The block is like a combat contact
    The little lad used to run crack but now he's serving the sound track
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