This is a song about "Aston martin"

All up in my jeans and i'm gunna' hit her with that

Trayvon martin, jordan davis, rodney king, racist cop shit,

With a mu'fuckin' dream, like i'm martin luther king

And i bet you all them letters in your mailbox waiting

The truth, with martin luther king at the cemetery,

And the discography, somethin' you got to see

It's no drought were i be, bitch no police, here's fire wings

Trayvon martin wore a hoodie and probably spoke ebonics,

When they here today what you say to them

Dexterity size of martin

Whether you rhyme slow or the beat fast

Uh, and trayvon martin had to learn firsthand