This is a song about "Cider"

Like being garbage some type of disease

Bitch screaming i want this cream-pie tease,

Me and rap are close, like butter on toast

Seven years old in my heart, so i'm stayin' gold

I'm coming back to shock and awe, keep running, squawkin' with your clotted scars,

I was hyper because i didn't get attention from my real pops

Dope sneakers and dope speakers for fly cats

Barley-wine brews and broiling brats

Bars crazy of course i'm living the dream

A mans on the ground, and thats not whipped cream

Tree pine, now, do the tree pine

She prefer the dutty wine

I used to have a nine to five

Home invading i'm skating on thin ice,

Too bad, that's the beer talking

I was born to do the damn thing