MS. GRAVEYARD DIRT

Bread shaping’n’braiding music!

graveyarddirt:

Y’all ain’t about nothing, Y’all ain’t about nothing
Y’all frontin, y’all frontin, y’all frontin, y’all frontin

Y’all niggaz just hate, Y’all niggaz just hate
Y’all fake, Y’all fake, Y’all fake, Y’all fake

You ain’t finna do nothing, you ain’t finna do nothing
Y’all frontin, y’all frontin, y’all frontin, y’all frontin

Introducing to you now is the kid they love to hate
But when you saying what you saying
You just say it to my face

Whenever my bone throwing, entrails reading, blood anointing semi-feral wild woman ass is made to feel inadequately witchy (IT //DOES// HAPPEN; SOME PEOPLE THINK I’M A JOKE AND THEREFORE KEEP A WIDE BERTH FROM MY CRAZY, OTHER PEOPLE THINK I’M THE REAL DEAL AND THEREFORE KEEP A WIDE BERTH FROM MY CRAZY - EITHER WAY, TUMBLR, IT FEELS LIKE I RARELY WIN) the first thing I do - other than gnash my teeth and wildly fantasize about evisceration - is think “Y’ALL AIN’T ABOUT NOTHING / Y’ALL FRONTIN, Y’ALL FRONTIN”. (<- TRUFAX!)

A witch who gleams egomaniacal confidence through Chamillionaire lyrics is a witch best left alone.

(Frontin, Chamillionaire)