This is a song about "Being in africa"

Just for me being weird in the past/

Enforce, i'm elegant and

Was pac right about being conceived in prison

I don't give a fuck either like father, like son, i'm done

It's odd being in the same room, with the man i killed,

Shout out to joe and chris, it's a.p on my wrist

In that time i'll be just great being a bastard,

Riding that big body, shorty be hitting the curb

Like that's going to make up for the years and the tears

So being in the kitchen whipping would make sense

Don't make me shoot up this place with light sabers and guns

For being the absent dad in attendance

Racism bullets being shot in every which way

I pray that i’m in outer space, ufo fly away