This is a song about "Buve"

Now money is a service, but it's worthless, there's no purpose, shit,

Im moving on from ex , but i get jealous , am i a hypocrite?

Service the discursive lurkers in the furthest mergers of a scary circus,

Bastard, hap hazardous track master, put a beat on and words become lavishly crass daggers/

Loadin out with my rap service, let it out on the pad i make the whack versions

As the devil walks thru the door they fulfill their self righteous urges