This is a song about "Floods droughts"

And you don't wanna go to clubs no more and

Smoke floods, with a gust, the town is buzzed,

I step through the stomach, replace the baby with some fucking pounds

To the point of leaving battlefield barren like repeated droughts

Brains spill, spurt, forming projected blood drought's!

Baby moms on greyhound for 8 hours

That mean im overflowin all you rappin niggas in cups

Mapping the next cut on his arm, he rubs the razor along, it floods.