This is a song about "Bones"

Looking out to prove something, and ready for popping bones,

Wouldn't it be nice if the banks didn't fuck up the loans

Patron black, uh, patron jones

Taking shots that rattle my bones,

I'm predisposed to reap your bones

If we ain't right and always at the throats

Came out the game, full stomach and some bones

Instead they talking bout some thunderstorm, cyclones

I got alotta phones

-he is here, he's in my bones

Yet god bless them, if he'll 'front his bled bones

Right next to the fat lady hitting high notes

This is oh so much like getting votes

Now for a story of broken bones

‘cause we can’t see your bones

And i don't think homes