This is a song about "Crotchet"

Mixed with diluted cider brewed with, tools from al-qaeda units

Give me just a quarter pounder before i leave your legs bootless

I'll strike a match and light your ass, while i write 'n' craft your suicidal note

Sipping on this syrup/while im smoking on this dro high as he'll/so you know im bout float

You would bet on malcolm sex

You're smart but lack any common sense.