This is a song about "Disregarding males and getting mon"

And maybe one day his kids, something that he'll live for

And the rhythm itself just keeps getting slower and slower.

Like mitt, rom-ney, with his fuck-ing dumb, mon-ey.

Chillin' with homies and family

Dump his dead body outta my pick up truck

Across the news are young black males, no stroke of luck,

When they showed up at your door at christmas

And snitches be getting hunted like some witches

They get one season poppin', at least he's being honest

'cause we're getting paid, and they're getting pissed!

You left your nigga on his own

Growin out my dreads, i'm bob marley mon

The ice ain't really nothing to her

As my brain keeps getting brighter and brighter

Its getting harder and harder to breathe,

Y'all be the next in the long line of war stories