This is a song about "Hand jobs"

I start to think it's all planned

With a blunt in there hand,

Who fly? i'm a red eye with eye drops

You sell yourself for better jobs

You niggas comedy, i'm laughing at you probably

We're barely making dollars at our peanut jobs, close to me,

Burst out like pop.the only page you'll end up is looking up jobs on the last

Even now i keep a frown when i come arounddon't ask me about tha past

Yeah, you swear your girl is faithful; everything ain't what it seems

Is southern culture, still we got our fucking jobs overseas,

I was fiending for the meals; i ain't talking burger king

And every day my mama drifts jobs like she's sleep-walking,

I never judge a murder by weapons, only the rage

Working these menial jobs for this simple minimum wage,

And i ain't trying to land

Come take my hand (come take my hand)