Текст песни First Words - Syn Suitcase

Out here is a riot of tough times
Papa fired from job, so now it's my priority to grind
Working hard, working underpaid like crazy only making 9
Making just enough, scraping by with food and trains
Far from being in it crude for fame
Rat n' race, carve us a new day, sacrificing
Hiding shame to brighten up bae
Master's resurrection is the mark of the play date
Played cautious, concealing my fate
Triple K's make me do rumbling and farting

They yapping spitting wreaths
I can't yalk, they clatter with their teeth
You know it's a problem if you and yo daddy only speaking
Cuz yo friend wield the shit that he chiefin'
Almost outright gone of teens, but shitty when your mental still so fucking weak
Walk in the room reeking of documents you seeking, keeping the peaceing,
Hay-Hay yo tickets gon' cause you to be booked in the precinct, someday
Shit gon' end up blood drip n' leaking
Flood bit freaking with a monster smash
Smash hit, back away I think I'm tweaking
Funny birth ways
Mama only yapped after 7 days
Celebrate master's death day peeing