This is a song about "Helping the poor"

I'm going hard for the days i was poor

I've seen niggas loose cool, niggas leave school

With him helping this time

3 times, show me your peace sign

Sometimes it ain't what's up, sometimes you play the fool

I represent the desperation of the poor

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

Late night to the early morn, i been such a rolling stone

The prime in me helping me create unnecessary rhyme

Beetle the skin on my female that's word to cee-lo she fine

Sick of tha sirens, body bags, and tha gun firing

The poor little words ya jotting 'n writing.

And i bet you all them letters in your mailbox waiting

Hate is the fuel thats helping me, this diss is sick 'n' flaming

The cia just gives the poor drugs to sell, weigh the scale,

Your bitch got the tendency to run and check the mail