This is a song about "Damn son"

Your son is left wondering when

Hoes row got beans in them

Cold, my style making my nose run

But it's real shit comparing to yours, son.

So damn crisp and so damn big

She got the bomb, i'm talking tick tick

While you loudly scream "damn son" proudly

Now i know a lotta styles, some see

Comedian, try again, son

Fly as shit for no goddamn reason

Yeah bitch this date's done

To be throwing the hand’s son”

Now let me talk to you son,

Lord knows that four door fit eight women

So you better run better run son

Shoot my ping and if you gonna listen