| Another letter to myself |
| Yeah it’s saying I’m worthless |
| I know I’m rich |
| But I’d be lying if I said I ain’t hurting |
| See me laughing on the stage |
| But I’m a mess behind curtains |
| She sick of all my baggage |
| Cuz my baggage ain’t berkin |
| She only twenty three |
| She say she love me |
| But it’s only been a couple weeks |
| I swear my life is a mess |
| I’m poppin pills to numb the pain |
| And taking shots for the stress |
| The people say I look alive |
| But they look better off |
| Uh |
| Cuz they look better off dead |
| She think she looking good |
| But she look better off wet |
| Two guns |
| I call em Quavo Offset |
| Once these bullets take off |
| You and your migo’s all dead |
| All swept with a broom |
| I keep brooms in my furnace |
| I’m creepin at night |
| Call me Lurch cuz I’m lurkin |
| I’m rich but depressed |
| All these checks I keep earning |
| Ain’t nothing to me |
| Spend your rent on a tee |
| I’m like |
| Baby can you help a brotha out real quick |
| Dip your finger in the bag |
| And let a brotha get a sniff |
| Till my brain feels numb |
| Feeling nothing but the drip |
| Heard that pussy taste like water |
| Can a brotha get a sip |
| I lick her pussy like a motha fuckin cake pop |
| Hollow bullets got you dancing |
| Like its K-Pop |
| I’m smoking on that real loud |
| But I don’t say a lot |
| No I ain’t hoppin on your verse |
| Unless you pay a lot |
| Another letter to myself |
| Yeah it’s saying I’m worthless |
| I know I’m rich |
| But I’d be lying if I said I ain’t hurting |
| See me laughing on the stage |
| But I’m a mess behind curtains |
| She sick of all my baggage |
| Cuz my baggage ain’t berkin |
| She only twenty three |
| She say she love me |
| But it’s only been a couple weeks |
| I swear my life is a mess |
| I’m poppin pills to numb the pain |
| And taking shots for the stress |
| The people say I look alive |
| But they look better off |