This is a song about "Edwardo gettin roasted"

Watch me blow like i exhale i excel in this rap shit

I'm a poet, a genius with words, prepare to get roasted/

A baby basket hound gettin lashed,

Rap giant, get your little locality smashed

I thought i recognized her

Days were gettin colder

Gettin weak all in my knees

And all my childhood memories

To our own set of problems that we roasted along

Find your number in my phone and don't know what be goin wrong

She shift my gears and whispered in my ear

And we gettin' money, over here,

And i clowntha type of bitch to throw down

Gettin buried in a white gown

Them niggas tippin' good girl but i can make it flood

Ur ass was roasted cause your rhymes purely suck