This is a song about "Broken homes"

My momma taught me never steal and never tell on folks

Who would forgive me even if i burnt down all their homes

And i don't blame you, cause game gets swang like it ain't shit

And sell out 'till we dig holes for homes like peter rabbit,

Everything i wanted never seem so close

I remember shotguns and modest working class homes,

Figure this out, the king of the south, i'm poppin' bones from shotgun homes,

I be staying at the roosevelt more than marilyn goes

And i got a foot fetish, so i probably have sex with your toes

Without choice or hope to voice our own noiseless mope of far away homes

I do this shit for ghettoes and those 'hoods and kids from broken homes,

Best stay away when the door closed, i show up with four hoes

That's because thats these compton streets was built not to win

To havin' good homes, never is my stomach growlin',

Top ranked, number one my son

Streaks are made to broken