This is a song about "Bath salts"

They say hip-hop's dead, i believe it's just the fans

All these words i spit so dirty, should be takin a bath

We pull by, so we could spy, then leave a bloody bath

That passed on, they in heaven, found peace at last

Won't run out anytime soon

When i went to the bath room

It would be a bloody bath, to make your buddies dash,

But anyway, give me cash fag, cause i'm low on gas

And the headrest had to have about eight thorns

You eat a dick like a fag on bath salts

We come through throbbing like thunder storms

Was framed, got the case of salts

Bath salts straight out the catalog

I don't need your girl. man i got a lot