This is a song about "Finding the median"

Yeah ballgame, i swear the hoes wasn’t in my plans

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

I seen them grinding 'n' finding a way, to take time at the night or day

But in the midst of all this anger and this angstnever once did you heard me say

In the hopes of gettin' lucky and finding a way

Please, stay strapped, pack a gat every day

Hard to move on when you always regret one

If finding somebody real is your fucking problem

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

When i write rhymes i go blind and let the lord do his thing

I ain't gotta tell you they know about me, huh

So call the coroner or the mortician for the the

And thinkin 'bout it, i'm goin and gettin another one

If finding somebody real is your fucking problem

Black on black nikes that represent the lifeless lives

Finding a perfect storm of memories raging in fears