This is a song about "Being a sick rhymer"

You can't be wiping your ass

Thick lips and a sick class

Something like serena mixed with trina, have you seen her

Sick of being in trouble because of my demeanor/

Someway, somehow nigga feeling

I believed in a higher being.

And certain death for us ghetto bastardswhat can we do when we're arrested, but open fire

I show many gimmicks yeah, but im a mystical rhymer, call me a big timer,

Cause by then it's just too late, there's so much we can take

I’m sick and tired of being around this murder and rape,

Of course a lame gone make you sick

Got a sign on my dick

A pin-prick, it makes me sick

Killing these niggas off quick

As i read every word that you write, i can only imagine

I'm a realass nigga sick of being spitted on cause i'm the "wrong" one