This is a song about "Coal mining"

K and b is rarer than a piece of golden coal

Life is like a phone booth, these pigeons is the fuckin' toll

Within the mess of the palava there's a message in the saga to be told

Im like a devil rebel to the cocky jockey, you see me grindin mining all the gold

But when i fuckin' go, lucifer will probably have my soul

So much black on it look like i'm mining coal, call fire control,

Santa won't even give you coal for a fucking christmas present

In this rusty cunt, that won a cup in collectin' dust

On christmas all i receive is coal, yo,

Definition of cold: ice, 30 below

Now i'm laying out at the delano though

Not physical but the coal is verbal, ho,

And blinding me to them, i should've known then you were coal and not a gem

A fuckin' sausage fest will them shaky niggas get married then

Give me a sign, tell me how you wanna roll

Girl you're hot for days like secondhand coal.