This is a song about "Death of grandparents"

I'm sick of seeing ghetto-grown kids who nearly fight to death,

Just to try to get a piece of success, love me less

I'm godbless, i'm success so fuck stress

The freshness of my breath bring your death

I stare in your eyes in your final moments of death

I’m just multiplying my money and dividing the legs

I see colors of red, mothers n' brothers are plunging to death

Becoming a good rapper ain't that easy of a process

Keep your mouth close, you fucking with a dope boy

But booya booya boy 100 bars of death assassinate destroy

Of his death, such similarity

Six-fifty, three hundred my shirt free

Ur coffin is set, so choose the options of torture or death

Cause it'll never be the same hereso i wipe away the tears