This is a song about "Back in the booth"

Only if i'm rapping, my vision in the booth

I make my old bitch buy me all the latest shoes

My own worst enemy so fuck it either way i can't lose

So i phase out all the walking and i drop it in the booth.

Go stupid in the booth and go so rude when i'm writing rhymes,

Problem is i shine like two mics under heavy strobe lights

Getting rough in the booth like the tissue of armadillos

The odd niggas are beginning to spill these pink hoes

I'm up in the booth, pack a shrooms mackin' who back an nothing to lose

Rollin' down the street, smokin' indo, sippin' on gin and juice

And you finished that rap in the booth, it's back to the truth

You gotta pay attention in order to pay dues

These are lessons in the booth//

Niggas die over shoes

Second i get in the booth,

With women with issues