This is a song about "Fitting in"

Till its feeble and manipulated, fitting to our core

My nigga hustle all day in front of the corner store

I'ma get this girl that be stuffin my bricks

Rappers in my trunk i packed in six

You in your after life fitting in hell perfectly

Fuck it its mmg, ima cross of def poetry and potent tree

Sleeping in your beds and in your sheds,

And everybody's having sex

You'd be better off fitting this dick in your mouth

And i'm as high as deion feet is headed to the house

Perfection doesn't exist if it doesn't consume her and the truth hurts

In the country , in the villages , in the earth and universe

The mirror's screaming at me saying i'm emmi lola's son

Fitting that you're the tutor cause i'm serving you a lesson

See i walked in while she creeped in.

So if it comes down, may the best man win