This is a song about "Bad things abot tobacco"

I hang with a bunch of hippies and wacky tobacco planters

And only cheat on my broad if i run out of answers

You can bet your bottom dollar the bottom lips will need stitches

But like all bad things you should realize, im just a lost soul in this

Cause real niggas do real things

When you spill out hits

And brutally doing things

3m's on my new balance

Realising that world leans on things

Got racks, ain’t talking tits

I did bad things and it was a crime

If i had on 'bama line

Fuck all the faculty, tobacco-packing acrobat

And niggas ain't shit but you already knew that

Not mine, i'm with wale, i'm just a tourist on the set

And anyway, you hear all of these bad things about the internet,