This is a song about "Existential dread and cramps"

Party in your head there a club in your dread

Finished mean done, and done mean dead

Baby moms on greyhound for 8 hours

Existential thoughts depending from the curls/

Can't see his son shine like the four tops

Walk in say high to the dude wearin dread locks

She got me caught up in the moment

And remember what i said and

Spitting till i feel lyrical cramps

I got a green bag with them blue strands

They gotta point em out baby

Torn emcees dread the skills of me

Misogyny and homophobia, guns and crimes and,

Seven, what's religion nigga? i am legend

I ain't tricking but they see you as a pot of gold

Coldest clothes, bankrolls and hoes, and o's and o's, alone and cold,