Celly

So tragic, need a hot meal in my baby’s belly / Reminisce no hard times in my pen, in my celly, / I ain’t tryna go back, cause backwards ain’t part of my PJ

I was locked up in my celly / Murder for hire, no snitchin or tellin / I got no calls or no type of mailin

You got no hand skills, there's no security to save ya / No pager, no celly, no drop top Benz-y

[…] but I am ready to dip / to the telly with my relly / cuz these fuckin git up chicks keep blowin up my celly.

This a celly / That's a tool / On my Kodak