This is a song about "Better of dead"

That's how this shit be goin when you go for number one

Feelin like a fish out of water: dead salmon,

I know you get lonely when i ain’t home, on the road

There's very many dead and buried under fuckin' cloaks of smoke

If you feel it, it must be real just

Because of my mom and her dead beat husband

Of willing to aim, a gun, to your forehead, its not fun, to wish you were dead.

An eighth of grape ape hella joints to the head got my eyes all varsity red

You, you and you're saying "shit, i been had that

Better than the last stack of bull crap

So i bet him till he's dead with a bottle of rum

Called life, happiness, liberty, freedom

So you better run away cause if i reach you your dead,

And i'm somali so i guess i'm just tryna eat bread

Zeds fucking dead bullets made of lead

Now i don’t know if you was trying to check