This is a song about "Cotton"

Hit my peak, think i need a drink, cotton so bad call me joe. twist those bags rollin in dough.

Creep with methrough that immortal flowthug passion got you tremblinglike death on the row

When it come to pistols, these niggas don't john lynch them

I made your rep shrink like it's made out of 100% cotton!

Out in the cotton gin

This is my ambition

Snapping necks and records in matter of seconds check 'em son

Man i dread that through the dark nights like crimes of soft cotton

But if a nigga catch a nut bet he feel different

I wont forget about all the men forced to pick cotton and

When ever i think of you michael i allways fucking think "cotton bud"!

Your toes and your thighs shakingi eat it upshe said i'm ready to fuck

No longer with us; he's deceased

Come on bitch, get back to the cotton field

Out in the cotton gin

And the reason that i'm going