This is a song about "Dot heads"

Convertibles with turbo jets

Along with my other trophy heads

Picking heads for oral

This is the root of all evil

It’s hip-hop, not pop

The feds got- their heads chopped,

You can call me cancer but i don't smoke cigarettes

Cutting niggas off like a shed full of severed heads

Drank liqueur popped pills dot dot dot

Living if she is or not

And j dot cant work well under the spot,

When i'm on it, on it like my job

On top of me the feds, economy's poverty, gotta be the heads,

Thank god for what i did with blocking against this shaky defense

Paralyzed to the feeling, all the hate i see

Don't mess with j-dot or you'll get sent up to glory