This is a song about "Aids zika cancer"

So maybe like aids, y’all ain’t up on the right page,

I never judge a murder by weapons, only the rage

Money got me sagging, it really doesn't matter

I'm an incurable sickness like terminal cancer

Are your hands still shaking? are those aids?

Now war missiles hand guns and grenades

Two kids, wide hips, found something in her we didn't see

Im still sick enough aids dont wanna catch me

I guess i got to be a fucking hand-me-down rapper

Stuck between his cortex, with a little cancer

You think that we was learnin' from other rappers' mistakes

I'm itchin from kitchen aids aka hot as fiction maids

They say i'm too nice to be a rapper

Dont answer i know you beat cancer