This is a song about "Bootymeat"

You spend days in your room to look perfect on the surface,

Dial up words but they're not in service

Except for the lower class, now what's their purpose?

The mask is on 'em like a catholic service

Writing line after line i never quit, finish the lyrics now its time to spit.

Now money is a service, but it's worthless, there's no purpose, shit,