This is a song about "Fuckin up commas"

I mean that from the bottom of my heart

My rhymes eat up your lines like a fuckin pop tart

Ironin' you niggas now it's time to starch the shit

And i'll fuckin rip you up until you're minced parts, fuck it

If that bitch don't like you, she gonna tell you how she feel

They can't remember to forget who's fuckin up their meal,

I'm fuckin trouble, nothin subtle, bud i'm hennesy'd up

Miami bound with my d.c. chick and we let it fly when we in the club

Multiple colors, my mind's more productive than others

I'm at meetings shaking hands and adding commas to my net worth

Wolf gang in this bitch, nigga, we six feet deep

Ill say it strait up, boi your lines fuckin reek

Please excuse me while i pick up this fuckin pen again

Just fresh out of the ashes it's a detroit fucking classic from when

Play me for a stepping stone then, i land mine, huh

Come up to your peep hole, leave you fuckin' smelly nigga,