This is a song about "Bake em"

Just thanking the holy fatherhe made a star and shita youngin still ain't die

I am number won i'll bake you with my own son so die even your bitch won't cry

I tell em sparks got em i aint gotta diss em again

When it come to pistols, these niggas don't john lynch them

I've seen dreams turn dust, cause he made them

Studied up and i passed ‘em

Makin em drop/, making em pop,/

Lets talk about the cars y'all got

I like my friends imaginary with no names

Rap game mr. kipling with the way i bake cakes,/

Don't cha know we love ya? sweet lady

I faced 'em, kidnapped 'em, then slayed ‘em gravely

50 dollars on some shoes you ain't ever seen

Wake n' bake, for god's sake hoping this is all a dream

Or the courage to use em

I don't care what it did to them