This is a song about "Fluffswaggger"

Each time you disperse your verses they are hurling curses

At a funeral service lurking and snatching purses

Now money is a service, but it's worthless, there's no purpose, shit,

Snap her adam's apple, have a laugh, and toss her off a bridge

Service the discursive lurkers in the furthest mergers of a scary circus,

I'm hot like the backlash backdraft from sugar packets packed with anthrax