This is a song about "Bro s"

Sit down, take out a pencil and take some notes bro,

Poppa took the television, but left the radio

Everyday we party hard like ther ain't no tomorrow

Im too rachet too rancid/ charles mansion/ unload with the gun bro

So don't be acting shyi run my fingers through your hairthen i lay you on the bed

That’s why the paparazzi made that nigga hit his fucking head that’s what that fool get

And bro, you've been deposed

Is a space that now you hold

Are we living or dead bro

Word, absence will make the heart grow

Till you scream " what s my what s my name whats name!!!!

Po-po wanna pick his brain, ho's wanna give him brain