This is a song about "Hatin"

And tell ‘em that i don’t give a damn

Stop hatin i know you a fan

Goin’ for the grips every day ’til the grave

If you hatin on me i will smack you in the face

You scrape through a daze of decayed days, hatin' just facin' it

Cause i’ve been counting all this dirty paper for a minute

Gold bottles, lot of bitches

Yeah bet you hatin this