True Story E

Yeah. Look. Static L is the grave digger. Yo, yo. Told Satan, "Suck my dick," He said, "Bet, cash first." Now hell's my trap house, demons work the curb. Cops pulled me over, stole my mixtape instead. Even Lucifer scared of what my rhyme book said. My Glock baptized in Henny and Jedi tears. Shootout so sloppy, Jesus side-eyed the prayers. Died last week, came back for the features. Ghostwriters mad I still write my own scripture. Ripping ghosts now, hoes transparent but thick. Phantom Caddies with no drivers, just dick pics. Lord gave credit, ayy, when you resurrect. Bitch, I'm Tupac levels of dead, what's next? Funeral home got a drive-thru, my casket got rims. Zombie groupies suck soul, used to crazy straws. In the perimeter, auto-tune my last breath into Hooks. Now my corpse got more streams than these Living crooks. Sixteen shots missed, My shooter need LASIK. God texted me, "LOL, you basic." Reaper my hype man, sickle mic stand. Death Row Records now a literal brand. Crackhead angels sing my hooks in the projects. Echoes of "fuck the world" down the alleyway Pockets. Bible pages turn to rolling paper slowly. Even my shadow got a felony case on it. Ouija board glitches when I ask for my check. Demons file taxes on my soul like, "What's next?" Died again, probation officer pissed. How you violate parole when you don't exist? Grave so fresh, the worms got drip. Tombstone TikTok trend, dead nigga swag. Mama cried, then cashed my life insurance same day. True story. Now haunt her ass in 4K.