This is a song about "Finding a job"

Dear momma don't cry, your baby boy's doin good

And you have a job choppin' up wood!

Like they're giving me a rim job

This the shit that get cripple bitches to hop

I'm just sayin' i got fuckin' problems, mama's got a job,

Aiyyo cam before the cops rush, close the spot

It's no drought were i be, bitch no police, here's fire wings

Finding a perfect storm of memories raging in fears

In the hopes of gettin' lucky and finding a way

I got a question for ya, little somethin to say

A gateway to louder things like powdered speed soon outta reach

And it's like, finding a kit-kat in a sand dune, at the beach

Fed up with all the frauds and left y'all without a job

Then let that arm & hammer, hammer it right to a lot