This is a song about "Comatose toast"

A toast to the worst father ever,

You wear a shirt, my records sell yes sir

Spit that flame leave you weak bitches burnt like toast

Paparazzi in the trees, please curtains closed

You let him a sleaze you, but money tend to do that

Slipping further into comatose bits of shit

Is written in our souls, africa

You better hope it won't toast ya

Pass the courvoisier and i'll bust rhymes as i toast to this,

So i’ma be aight for the night with a goodbye kiss

She seen that geechi shit, ain't been to church since

Yeah so here's a toast to the funds and things

Better use protection, bless me please father, i'll be toast

Climbing up the pole, jack and the beanstalk, bitch it's gold

With this rap shit, you know i do the fucking most

I spit flames that leave that bitch burnt like toast