This is a song about "Final"

This is your last chance, your final warning.....

And this will be the song that we sing

You bitches get a lot of spots on your ass

And roars at hearth, the final farce, has come to pass/

And whack hoes hatin' on key out in public

The final war of the whack and sick

Even in your final act, such an ultimate crime, they have faith in you, a sound belief,

Doin twenty to life in san quentingettin calls from my nigga mike tyson, ain't nuttin nice

Lady at the frank stand will

And it aint my final

No coach bag if i go with that, snake skin tote that cobra clutch

To this day i will leave you and your conscious to be the final judge

Wish you niggas father understood where the condom was

Final disputes for the title but i got no rivals/

Now i'm working on a final project i can show

At times i look in the mirror to boost my fucking ego