Gingy

Baby don't wait for me under the mistletoe I don't got time for a kiss

I'm cold in the summer but more in the winter, when writing I can't even miss

Grind by the year, my work it accumulate man, I don't need a wish

Count all my blessings, and it don't matter what food, I'm cleaning my dish

To all the bakers that cook in the industry, yeah I got something to say

Where's the uniquity too many similes all hopping off of one tray

All of the chains, whips, rings, bitches you give your praise

Come from the template of modern philosophy copied and copied again

Gingy, all of his brothers are with he

Why do we look all the same

Hop out the oven three fifity