This is a song about "Deravites of inverse sinu lnu and a to the u"

And i'mma show you how the south was won

And i walk in to hear the smell of a fresh bong,

Keep talking, get you snatched for that scratch, clapped with the mac

Fuck you fuck u off and move to the next lad

Kidnapped u from ur own house took u to stoners hill where i could of killed u

But in real life they eyes is on your moneysee the enemies will say they true

I've mastered the rhyme factors after effacing actors-making artist ghost

Imaginary friends at a foster home and leave u with the blues. u prolly don't

My change of sense must have spent you- clutch the purse u lost the pen to

Not knowin it's hard to carry on when no one loves you

And u aint a stage artist. ...bt u still have to hold my black mic

Do not give a fuck i've got the swagger of a virgin's dick

And she ain't gay, but the only thing she like is fucking chanel

Fuck you go to hell u cheating son of a bitch i wish u fell