quaties

My momma, my momma, my momma is so tormentedShe been through trauma, more dramaThe dawn is gone, it's more tintedOn this side it get's out of itHow does a prophet who loved God as his father's slippin' to get the bottomless out of it?How come an angel gotta be sick in the pancreas like she an athiestMaybe it's the faith that is makin' this lady as crazy and has made me this skepticNext threat is Lupis on top of Epiliptic, Never restedPsychiatrist forever tested, Reverend blessed itBrethren, Heaven, Tech is beggin' for effin' X-MasHopin' momma ain't left an exitIt better get better quick, how you let her get sick with bread investedIn the church every sundayI've been searchin' for one wayOr another, you're gonna have to curse me or burst me with a sunrayTo let me know that you're coming or en routeI'm 'bout ninety-nine, but I need a hundred percent proof