This is a song about "Batch production"

Got me engraved in this sofa, zero production is what i make.

And my wrist froze, but i’m cool sha’, like a bald head, i’m too paid

New batch to patch, back to making maps

Go to hell, i mean that, burn you like green backs

House hidden, drop tops the sofas match

I tried to warn, a test, a swarm or batch

Trife emcee this is a parkside production record

No crucifix chains, i’m ain’t sure if i’m forgiven, lord

Get smacked with a batch of the hot flow from his stove

Best believe i'm leaving with more of those

Whipping up a batch of whoop ass from a giant can

College girl going wild, we gonna need a camera man

Just to feed his inner cat, his inner batch of unheard raps, getting fatter

When i ask him for shit, i get no answer, so god is the cancer

And all women who had light features, see

Quicken my raps, while i sicken the batch viciously.