This is a song about "Connie chow petit"

But radio ain't trying to follow suit

And in this game you the gators' food

When i step up out the maserati car

Keep your eyes sealed and stomach every bar

In my mom's stomach, came out like a deer

She shift my gears and whispered in my ear

Your worthless man, just like fuckin canned food.

Flower bomb detonator iv tech in route

Was on my grind cause times were harder than a cellar floor

You're fodder even yet my progress don't stall or

Stop making out right now, your acting like chow

Dreamy little bastard, i done ran outta luck now

How can niggas blame us, i am not ashamed but

You used to a partner in crime by the name of chuck

Your my snack i'm ready to tear it

See the feds and tap out that's wrestler shit