This is a song about "Fake rappers in tucson"

Pushin permanent twistin i'm on a mission got me on the mashtried to dig, you was screamin when i did

Fake rappers stick to me like prosthetics of a diabetic who wanted to look visually aesthetic.

I don't care who exist, the exorcist moving bricks

Fake rappers are spotted whether black or white like dalmatians,

Its either your real or your fake - no in between

I spitting bars the metronome the money machine

I never crack i got that chap stick

Dispose/ of rappers who jump in traffic

I am marvin with mind, but i listen to wayne

K tryin' to explain, fake rappers are on the reign

Rappers in my trunk i packed in six

To see me and my chicks in dkny kicks

That you offer them ones but they ain't let you

Number two, you're fake and rappers know that's true

Like that's going to make up for the years and the tears

When fake bitches see people they haven't seen in years