Fever (Slowed)

You know I'm cold, but I'm hot, got a Fever. I'm putting Trish in a crush two-liter. We got yay, come fluffy like a bunny. Blood on my Givenchy tee, nose running. I whip up shots, summertime driving. Hot outside so we gotta keep the top off. Up now, but you know I still bust shots. High-grade, they like, "Wait, let me cop some." Yeah, Swear to God I live in Kate Moss Moments. Had it in my hands, but I fumble When I hold it. Under city lights, Moving out of frame. West Village bitch, but she won't stay the same. B-b-bones too sharp, skin stays tight. Breath too slow from a long last night. Heart too fast and my chest gets tight. Crying out my name with tears in her eyes. C-c-cute for the fifty, twenty-five eight. She cute and she miss me, calling me bae. But I don't got time, bitch, I'm married to The game. Fast, fast life, man, I'm loving this Pain. Every leap of faith, I fall. Fade away to the curtain call. I found God in the bathroom stall. Forgive my sins, pray to Saint Laurent. You know I'm cold, but I'm hot, I got A fever. I'm putting Trish in a crush two-liter. We got yay, come fluffy like a bunny. Blood on my Givenchy tee, nose running. I whip up shots, summertime driving. Hot outside so we gotta keep the top off. Up now, but you know I still bust shots. High-grade, they like, "Wait, let me cop some." You know I'm cold, but I'm hot, a fever. I'm putting Trish in a crush two-liter. We got yay, come fluffy like a bunny. Blood on my Givenchy tee, nose running. I whip up shots, summertime driving. Hot outside so we gotta keep the top off. Up now, but you know I still bust shots. High-grade, they like, "Wait, wait, wait, wait." Good dope, no feelings. I'm so high, call me the ceiling. Balenciaga bag full of whispers and pills. Dior on the dress, yeah, I got blood on The bills. Up, down, sideways, But I'm falling backwards. Pop a painkiller, Oxycodone with a Xanax. I was on the runways, I was out in Paris. Now I don't even leave the house, I'm embarrassed. You know I'm cold, but I'm hot, A fever. I'm putting Trish in a crush two-liter. We got yay, come fluffy like a bunny. Blood on my Givenchy tee, nose running. I whip up shots, summertime driving. Hot outside so we gotta keep the top off. Up now, but you know I still bust shots. High-grade, they like, "Wait, let me cop some." Oscar.