This is a song about "Fs and ds"

And i don't think homes

And nasty remains and bones

Or like monumental mixtape of the moment

And my tongue stay flicking, over clits and fucking lips and

Blood and cuts, ifs and buts

As she goes through the levels

You feel it from your head to your toes

Riddles and jokes and scary crows

Girl your body lookin’ like a fuckin’ pot of gold

Coldest clothes, bankrolls and hoes, and o's and o's, alone and cold,

We still visualize places, that we can roll in peace

While y'all just a bunch a fags sucking on d's

Feel like the only rapper that look at you with no trouble

, iffy and pitiful , shitty and beautiful,

Punchlines and wordplay and rhyming and my metaphors,

Ima bosscall me ah a skinny rick rossflyer than a sworm of moths