Partying with the comma, looked left and whispered at the next line with a a thought of a period, all over the paragraph like Tom Hanks, call it Perdition...the chefs cook in kitchens, drug dealers deal what the government dealt us in the kitchen, find your niche on Adsense, & now you feel like you are imperfect for me, wrote a perfect love song, no thank you needed, no sound scan, I mean after all we areBorn Sinners like J.cole...there imperial anointing is dressing me forget battle, niggaz is dying for sneakers that cost as much as the fly Puerto Ricans bubble gum, careful not to leave a mess after you take a bite out of there flesh, flashy girls never looked my way, so i stay puttin them in my classics, end of story, nobody's perfect, call Missy Elliot, I put the instrumental from the track in the casket...
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