I won’t chase my thoughts of the version of you that I imagine away
I’ll just let them float into words like I normally do and go cast spells with them…
But can I ask you, something baby?
How come all the bitches you write about are always doing something to make you feel better, like, they alone in the world have no value at all unless they are making you beg for something and frankly they don’t appear to stand on their own period, they all seem to just be an extension of your penis and that seems so shallow and tired to me and how come you don’t write about women you wanna be like, or that inspire your greatness how come the females in all of your rhymes are only the ones you’ve laid or wanna lay, or wanna see next to you somewhere other people can gawk at and say somehow you are the best because that type woman exists to make a man outta you like, even Tupac wrote about his momma, you don’t write about love at all just the narcissist’s point of view of empty sexual interludes and if we get to the nitty-gritty of the thing, how come you never fucking write about me, ho?
I genuinely wanna know and on those times that you do, why am I’m just a fetish, hmm?
I’ve changed the world with my thoughts of you
and all you write about is what some booty do…
Baby, when you gonna grow up?
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