This is a song about "Cargo"

And ain't it shameful, how niggas blame hoes for givin' birth

Who holler back to days untold with cargo-holds of golden lighters.

The cargo youc arried at this point was going to stop your

Her hair all over the bed, that make me love her more

I can only imagine, uncle bob

You fall low on cargo until you come to a stop

Psycho, maestro, orchestrate the life with the right flow

Then i left the hood, like fuck it don't need the cargo

My great brain, the freight train, loaded up with cargo

And i shall commence that i'm the truth, joe