This is a song about "Drugs guns girls killing the hood gangster crip gang"

Everybody seems to misread every sentence

If you're black, you're always a thug, and you have drugs and guns

By a gang called the police

Not likely like stay long please

Auction coke to the coppers, glocks in the locker and

Thats why i'm a crip, rid the world of unjust

Still no drugs, guns, knives or lives lost.

Bomaye, killa cam, my lord

Without the sound of guns

These chalance give me balance

Wait, don't they sell the terrorist's guns?

Pocket with a cash full of bashful weapons

Cause youse a down ass bitch, and i ain't mad at cha

And they thought drugs were killing the youth (ha, ha, ha, ha)