This is a song about "Faded and mic"

There's a million names for your kind of chronic

And then you just spit it real and feel it into the mic,

Come close, catch a contact, i got a loud pack in my cargo pocket

Afghanistan had faded quick, americans took over and they hated it/

And now i'll release anger, on this damn mic i'm breathing life,

He fathers her only kid that's why my homies let him live

It shows i know a bit

You must be getting faded

So i grabbed a mic and started spitting and the rest,

My levis, they 501, my snapback is hella bent

Bombs drop, hit and then explode the mic

Just like a cannon from the teen in nick

On the mic playing quidditch and cribbage

I broke mama heart with no college

Makin niggas die witnessin' breathless imperfections

And align the mic with my torturous weapons