This is a song about "Caleb boon"

Girl, let's send our stress to the sky

I bet you've never seen a pig fly

And by the grace of god you make the approach

Creep along the tile floor, feeling like a roach

Lungs on fire to some beauty of her

Eyes super clear, you looking in the mirror

When i die tell them to turn my coffin to stretch benz

I thank you for influencing me to rap, and my health

Peruse through life like it's the news

Now concentrate until you get the juice

Rollin' down the street, smokin' indo, sippin' on gin and juice

Janitors and cooks and guards and tellers, that's bad news,

I thought it'd get better but

I'm not strung out and dead of luck

Girls, i ask 'em do they smoke

If skill was wealth you'd be broke