This is a song about "Cracked bones and phones"

When you're fuckin' close to gettin' beat up and poppin' bones,

My momma taught me never steal and never tell on folks

And erase my number out the phones of these fake hoes,

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

I like to think i write and rap as tighter than some biker shorts

It's as if the phones, tablets and ipods have turned into cyborgs,

Looking out to prove something, and ready for popping bones,

Wouldn't it be nice if the banks didn't fuck up the loans

Now son is the only onegrows up in adoption homes

And if the family sees you again they might just start picking bones,

Shrapnel bones and fucking glass shards ripping through your chest

See i can only love you when you undressed

When you're fuckin' close to gettin' beat up and poppin' bones,

That they probably be in the closet of old folks