This is a song about "Hang"

George bush got some nerve, fuck a war, we trying to serve

The type i hang around are like straight end dancers.

Now you stuck up in my mothafucking basement all bloody

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

I'll tell you baby that we're through

Stay positive and hang with the crew

The numbers unknown, hang up the phone

I don't need no fucking throne

His balls hang awkwardly isosceles

Nigga, i'm a bastard, i fuck with chord keys

My conscious only knew whats half tight

We hang at school and chat every night

My homie always down to hang,

Still the man with the pan