C.U.T.I.E P.I.E

songwriter,ghostwriter,cutie pie,music,women,girl
C.U.T.I.E P.I.E- Rap Academy

You looking like you hooked up with the trash,
 you ran outta cash, booty hugging thong,
trying to get away from schlong;

 Monk, don't honk,
I'mma run you over in the Cronk. 
Pesty beasts running amok, 
waving Chronicles of my demolition. 
Heat be trapped in my seat, 
you better watch out my transition. 
Don't sell me cheap thrills, drills, saving Mills, 
rowing on the hills. 

 I'm not a babe who kills. 
Shrills, cries and fantasies drop from my eyes. 
Puffy kajal, choco chips, sweat smells and gas bills; 
Nay! Don't be mocking my persevering tries.
Shy! Nah. I'll run u dry; fry, cooking me over, I'm high.
Insane, that's just my opinion. 
Driving on the pedestrian, times in a zillion. 
You making million or maybe a few billion but you ain't ma friend unless we ride a pillion.

 Fathom me, I'll be your hell; 
Amo te! We will set the sail. 
Chalice of my lies, featured a Judas phase; 
I have tamed my deamons and they giving me my space.
Maven, Raven, Ocean's Eleven; be mother of my dragons in the heaven. 
Driving away from myself, I'm finding me again; 
don't bother me, I'm not insane. 
Train me if you can,in the rain,fan, drain or tell me that you can't. 
Thank you but no, I know who I am.
I'll cut you through in the eyes. Keep on judging me as your time flies. Fishnet, honkies and your C.U.T.I.E P.I.Es. they are figment of your imagination and goddarn lies.
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