This is a song about "Boxes"

Here i go again, searching for love

Your dropping more names than ups drops boxes

I’m a pretty dark person, i’ve though about ending it a million times

Workin' in stations, fixin' up boxes, grabs paper sheets, writin' down rhymes//

I'm stuck inside a slump runnin' numbers like proportion boxes,

Ain't got nothing in common with niggas with no commas

I think i'm koko b. ware, you just a bird babe

Slapped in factory boxes like boxers, i'm renegade,

Feeling obnoxious, shoved into lockers and boxes, prominent,

Of the baby not bein' digested by a fuckin' hungry punk

I need to beat

Three lunch boxes a week,

Put the money in boxes and sell it and still make profit,

I call that insecure, sh-sh-shawty think she all that