This is a song about "Bad players"

I've become immune to you no name haters

Call 'em dumb players who are not sprayers

Never chose the bad life , no bad crowds

So it’s more for me, she invited me in her mouth

Just think of all the people that you knew in the past

And in my mind's eye i see this place, the players go in fast

Look deep inside my train of thoughts, gold ring players,

Said that they tried to give him like a hundred years

Took a shot, tired of runnin from the niggas and the cops

I grew up in new orleans, ball players and rhyme stars,

Where the black girls get their weaves back

Why you treat them so bad

Fourth quarter, that sack; fourth ward in all black

Luxury life, results living bad

Ain't even tryna hold back

Yall niggahs gone get it bad