This is a song about "A kid named bohler s raps are whack as fuck"

Fistful of wood, twisted for the good

I don't give a fuck what the 80's did

Good help is hard to find

As a kid i often didnt mind

This a mad world, and im mad max,you a bag girl,your raps are mad whack

We ain't having ittime to tear this shit back, ghetto children kick back

Self made coming soon

By a crackhead named june

Make the fingers snap

Yea my rhymes still are whack

Now can i take it off yarub my tongue across yai do it so right

Im a heavyweight you got a feather mind,your raps are about as tight

Your bars are whack,uneligble for a track,step back

Hit yo ho with a muthafuckin baseball bat

Let's pretend he was never beat up as a white kid,

Dear momma don't cry, your baby boy's doin good