This is a song about "Finding parents"

I hope that you're finding it better than some kinda redder heinz

Cuz id be lyin and yall be fine chase bread with my dog muthafucka felines

Hammer-hat flyer than a bag of bats

I'm finding ways, to get them fucking brats,

The people ain't got shoes for they feet, or food to eat

Weak asses, need glasses cause they're finding their feet!

The aftermath is y'allsi told ya last album, we need help cause we dying

Because man you better get writing, but there is still a feeling i'm finding

In the hopes of gettin' lucky and finding a way

There's nothing he can do, he let it get away

But i'm finding grinding isn't quite like reclining

The most that they can do is find me, i'm hiding

To be fought, not finding refuge in the ones they adore/

Drawers by bad broads whenever the curtains call