This is a song about "Hang outs"

There's no answer for it, these rhetorical lyrics

I'd rather hang out with conservative cynical bigots,

Hey mr. coach, i don't like you

Stay positive and hang with the crew

My homie always down to hang,

And they respect that, say that i'm real man

The game's got cancer, i radiate the crowd

Outsold the sell outs, freak the hell out

Live and learn, call outs and haters the least of my concern, i earn this adjourn,

Shouting till they hear me on saturn lighting this path with my lyrical lantern

His balls hang awkwardly isosceles

She don't suck nothing, buzzen, but she lick it nice

So i parked in a tow-away zone

The numbers unknown, hang up the phone

They giving me pounds and thats of course getting money

Wrap his throat with knotted rope and hang him from the balcony