This is a song about "Help the poor"

The poor little words ya jotting 'n writing.

Escobar season begins, so let the semis ring

You told me life would never, ever, ever get this perfect

It's astrife in the end fend for yourself. send for help,

I'm still, just like a kid, lookin for stripes on my belt

Trying to talk about the problems, and still i ask for help,

I'm definitely in a class of my own

And then maybe the poor will survive, then hold the throne,

You trying hard to maintain, then go headcause i ain't mad at cha

It's hard to care about the poor with everything they're feeding ya,

I don't kiss and tell, that's so middle school

Churches searching for the pockets of the poor

But calls on the world when it needs some help

So, with that, we need us a plan, respect

To help stop the flooding

Money ain't a thing