This is a song about "Are you afraid of a blade made of a razor wit aids blood dripping from it ripping your stomach up from the waist up you talk a lot of junk but you was never ill though i m strong enough to beat you to death with a feather pillow tipped over some cows just"

To the 'r'. ruin niggas hopes of success

I'll hang you on a hook near the brink of death

Of flavors made to make you look lamer than a 7-up

Like my remy with no juice, you a lot like bishop

Nibblin' on ya ear, she love that teasin' stuff

And some day ill have a job you can only dream of

The hot-box vehicle like breathing out the window

You bloggers hawk a lot of drama; we're talking it slow,

Aiyyo, them niggas from the three two, said i can't breeze through

Lightens the mood with ribs, never be able to take a bite of you

Had a lot of em but i miss the ones with you the most,

I am not no homophobe, good thing i don't read the post

If a period is late then i will mark it with a question

But you happen just to use it for a storm of aggression