This is a song about "Brushing your theeth"

You ain’t seen nothing yet, bitch, this just my friday ice

Ill cut your thtroat, chop your head and pluck out your eyes,

My gun your scars, your wrist your calls

It ain't gon' be no back and forth

Your lyres are cheat so hold your pen open your book-let

Won’t pop another pill, can’t drink another sip

Freezing your nose, your eyes, your corneas,

Usually turn out to be the fakest ones

Lucky seven probably poppa

Leave your running to your mamma,

That's your soul along with your principles and your morals

I'm in new york now, like akeem and semmi was

Fuck, clean up on aisle six

Fuck your cars, fuck your feelings.

Your just signing your death so mind your threats

Monday through monday we be cashing checks