This is a song about "Bums"

Packing guns, n' tackling bums.

Where you welcome to problems

They had discovered how matter can't be broken, now them bums

My paper long, yep, you left alone, you gets no fucks

But it don't feel half as good as grandma saying she's proud

Dont vibe with bums... i'll bite my tongue and rip it out

Packing a gun to punk you whackest of bums with no answers for son

Barely breatin believin that the world is a prison