This is a song about "Fitting in"

The youngest of my mother kids

Rappers in my trunk i packed in six

Come see real niggas on my team

Phone in his hand, coffee in his spleen.

Knocked out in the lunch in

This boa, what's your motivation

Till its feeble and manipulated, fitting to our core

Loc’s on, chucks low, black beanie dogpatron top wash straight from the liquor store

Your mouth, i don't need, your legs, you can keep

Mic'ing few miles fitting the backstreet

Watch you in,watch you in, watch you in, im in for the win

Better or worse, the center of attention

Fuck swag, nigga i got ambition

And let it be taken in

This the land of the white man

Fitting ya without ma gang