This is a song about "Aka 47 crips"

When the truth came out i'm a rapper not a poet "aka" the people's mouth

Lets get to spittin, yo ass will be splittin 2 halves, dude u buttfucked 2 cows,

And you are you too, but bitch i'm three

Once i beachu, ill slap dat booty

Yeah i'm gon' leave with her

Ryan spits hot fire

87, brick fare, yeah, i’m talking thirty racks

‘cuz they choose colors of bloods and crips in gangs,

Fuck trout, you bout? let's fish for ice

Slobs on floor, now da crips on the rise

Hes got on some crips kicks

Got stretch marks like she got four kids

You don't mean that, you faggot

"im not saying jack shit"

I got ak-47's get ya shit lit

A cold beast, nigga i'm the shit