This is a song about "Can t talk"

But when i talk down to you, it's time to shut up so i can speak

So my outlook's dim and my house is eventually without any heat

You sure talk like a dude , i can still spit wack but i'll still keep possession

So i can write about my life of sina couple bottles of gin

Go dissed raise your hands and rise up start screamin t

And missin' for the nightman this shit is just that easy

Twista finna get up on the track

Rat t-t-t-tatted up on my back

No ho, acquainted with the floor

You don;t thin anymore

That bitch bad, looking like a bag of money

E to the t, r-o-i then add another t

After that moscato hit

So you can talk your shit

Why talk to this mothfucker knowing that i can eat him

They label me a backpackin' nigga on fashion