This is a song about "Ak 47 cats gats backpack grenade"

A 45 trey deuce spade sprayed, you stayed

Eight inch blades and the tick of a grenade

Mostly cause niggas hate you, tryin to fill up your plate

Based off the voices of a poisoned grenade

Migrated with my backpack

Ha my mojo back

Killa i roller cheese blazed, high as fuck and feelin' great

Where i had the hockey puck replaced with a grenade!

A 9mm in his backpack,

This is why her nigga mad

Cause i rather shatter the skittish cats

Sorry mr. charlie won't chap dance

I'm spittin hungry like ain't shit up on my dinner plate

Before you could feel the shell shock of words like a grenade/