This is a song about "Alex berushing his teech"

All black everthing on some jigga shit

His only escape for his fuckin pops split,

Sorry mama, i can't turn the other cheek

A tear down his cheek and his legs feel weak

Phone in his hand, coffee in his spleen.

Be the king, that was part of my dream

Ultimately his decision,

Two reflections into one

Hoping that hip-hop can surface and go-go again

As a child his only friends were his dog, his page and his pen

Ff-fuck outta here, thats how they gettin gas

Shitting his stock of cash out his ass

His conscience can take him to his grave

Prps cover my eight’s, uhh, lemme switch my pace

And if you disagree, suck a couple pimple-covered dicks

Always biting his teeth, his outer lip was shrouded with countless slits