This is a song about "Gerogie"

Im not worried, or discouraged, you see us and you know we spit mad verses.

Loadin out with my rap service, let it out on the pad i make the whack versions

At a funeral service lurking and snatching purses

Lines naturally come out of my mind,and end up looking like bad cursive.

Penetratin' the game on its cervix is my service

You spend days in your room to look perfect on the surface,