This is a song about "Baes and bikes"

Hopin' that my niggas see

Living young and wild and free

Let my angel sing

And i'm dizzy and spinning

And their mothers and fathers

Ybm and emp it's like we brothers

From the back seat, back seat

And kill yourself and your clique

Blood and cuts, ifs and buts

Good kids make bad grown ups

Never let another rap nigga hit it from back or the front

And my tongue stay flicking, over clits and fucking lips and

Punchlines and wordplay and rhyming and my metaphors,

I'mma need two mics just to get my point across

Why these broads hear my late call, start rushin' over runnin' lights

Now i'm sharpening spikes, to toss it at dykes and broads with their bikes