This is a song about "Classifications of triangles"

That bitch was racist, got me fired

Of being of always getting wired

Your yard, full of pieces of lard

A working genius, a work of art

In my drawsring, ring, ring

Feeling, of appealing

Thoughts of us of everything of everyone's debts

Odd future leaving even niggas in past tense

She never ready to go so she forever come

Got the eye of tiger, spit of cobra, form of a dragon

Your yard, full of pieces of lard

See, where i come from is hard

Shaved of the face of the earth

I still got haters