This is a song about "Chip on shoulder"

Homie will never love her, although he'll probably have a fit

Karl malone called her a little mexican, but he never won a chip

You is not hip then i can not coach her

Run them over with tractors i'll gun your shoulder

Fucking chin-checkin' punks 'til he's outta breath and done

Conscience aches, angel and devil on his shoulder talkin

You are the angel, you sit like a bolder on my shoulder,

While his fiends for cream well exceeded the dream she once lived for

Guess i'm self made

Ill crack your shoulder blade

She still don't know i made sarah to strangle her

I hope this explains why this chip's on my shoulder

Always holding the world on my shoulder

I wanted a brother my mother i told her