Pardon this poem but I'm still like a noam
I'm still in the zone, and you copy like a clone
Quiet when I'm blown, but I'm vocal when I'm blown
If you don't understand then apparently you're dumb
I'm just having fun, when I puntuate the pun
And you ain't making sense like machines on the bus
Polite when I bus, but I'm steppin' in front
'Cause I'm tryna get my slice like the side of the blunt
Tryna get the green but I don't want no seeds
So after you hit me then you better be bleeding
If not I'm seething, If not we grieving
'Cause Pastor said don't you abort for no reason
I'm up for the challenge, but must find my balance
So I'll call PNC, and right after my stylist
Go get fly, jounts in the pocket
sharp as a tack when I'm on the red carpet
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