This is a song about "Fuckin while your dad records"

Called that bitch my quaterback, wild cat all that

Beating on your wife, no longer talking to your dad,

Hmm, knew in my heart you was the same motherfucker bad

I will leave you wrapped in a bag. after phone your dad,

But the plan is to show you that i understand

Have your dad and fuckin gramps, catch a mutherfuckin cramp

And the headrest had to have about eight thorns

Bring back record sales, i sail while i break records

While spittin grade a fuckin trash, you want responses? i got 'em

I’ll catch my breath a little, money alright where i’m from

Searching for fortune and fame

Your songs are so fuckin lame

Get the fuckin ra after your

Summer time, different shore

Like football your ass smacked dad

She got something i never had