This is a song about "G o b"

Surrounded by the irony of living in the city

I'm wicked so my image makes me snoop d o g

My lady, my baby

U about to get murdered b

Da real queen spellin b

Six-fifty, three hundred my shirt free

Look, i'm still talking to you baby

Ain't rapping like i was another slow b/

I drop o after o of the loud,

Illest bitch alive, realest bitch around

Then all i really want is for her to get on top

My j-o-b to roast or fry this age old beef till the mic is h-o-t,

We like to party

But ion show no love g