This is a song about "Bati"

Audiences respect the witty girlness and not that dissing curtness.

At a funeral service lurking and snatching purses

With the wheels fallin off i shoot thru the windows make him crash into his mommas curtains

Loadin out with my rap service, let it out on the pad i make the whack versions

Service the discursive lurkers in the furthest mergers of a scary circus,

I'm hot like the backlash backdraft from sugar packets packed with anthrax