This is a song about "Bob jones"

I fucked my whore than stabbed her in the heart, like im an indian from indiana jones,

I maybe funny but i'm always taking money, plus i ain't throwing jokes,

Put them out randomly hopin' that i get some

Sponge bob you a square, i'm a pi problem

And them blacker girls ain't on the tube usually

I'm patrick smoking trees with bob, spongy

They pull you in and destroy you like manson or prophet jones,

That they probably be in the closet of old folks

But somethin' was always missin' like six digits

Rage, pain, was blown away in the wind like bob dylan's,

The game ain't pretty but i'm reppin' for my city

I feelin like the ?bob?, when he was on da fone wit jimmy.

See i live up in a shotgun home, niggas think they're prophet jones,

Now son is the only onegrows up in adoption homes

Vroom vroom, keep the motor running girl, you know it don't stop

Now yall listening to me flow while your heads rest easy and bob,