This is a song about "Hepatitis b"

Ain’t seen ya since the 12th grade, even back then

Look b**** don't speak on my kid again,

Took my heart away from money

Imma take over new b

But you just listen to whats supposed to be "cool" b.

Now hire about street schemes, and getting blood money

Matter fact i am farmer john milkin' cattle tracks

A rational b j given by your raps

Two kids, wide hips, found something in her we didn't see

A, b, or c choose your fatal destiny

I don't need no props b/

Mama made her pretty

Chasin dreams to b platinum in the street

Like you never get right? sort of like a black sheep

Fuck wit lil b heres a molotov

Hoes show me love, niggas give me props