She's got her ventral trauma, her Lent-roll drama, her sent-role Obamna, bona-fide tent-pole farma', show her how a bear-ass runna' add to her an extra comma.
Last name, Cako, first name, Cako; she preach it when spoken to, knows a snitch is kitsch, knows a hustla' finna' drop her in a ditch, moment she runna' like a bitch.
Runnin' witha' – Grave Digga' David, got her new streets pave'ed, stare at the sun so long outside lookin' like a rave'ed. Anybody home? Nope? Just my type, now let's see if she knows a runna' from a bite.
In one ear, out the other, on her knees all night to learn to be a mother, still don't remember how she end up with my number, maybe try again at the end of next summer.