This is a song about "Bella sucks at singing"

Or the way u live, like everyday is the fuckin end, (singing)

So, suicide i perceive, before i slide on that ring

And before the sun came up, he was gone

Maybe i'm singing the wrong song

We vegetables, on them record labels

After i axed the guy who asked why my rappin' sucks.

Like when wind blows through singing chimes.

Uhh, addicts arise, when i arrive

I’m something like a fetus, i'm not quite kidding

That i'm grinding on some lining while everyone still singing

The sick fuck drags her into his car, driving home singing,

Wear out tracks, let me do my thing, i got 16, for this roscoe thing

Exploring ourselves, learning, painting, and singing

Tryin’ to bag a brother with a super bowl ring

With your flashlight, tell me what do you see

Your bitch sucks dick like kobayashi