This is a song about "His dimples"

Ahead of his years, ahead of his time,

I spit murder, every bar is a crime

Plagiarized swag, may arrive last

Shitting his stock of cash out his ass

Took his head n' beckoned his mind

The glare makes me hard to find

And we don't fucking make horrorcore, you fucking idiots

That likes walking with his hips bragging about his marijuana hits.

Ho, slut, no love, turn beef to cold cuts

My wishes are simple, a redhead with dimples.

Right now at 23 i ain't mad at them reds no more

His homie went to his house and opened the door

Ima bad bitch on his hip man he call me his model

Forever i ain't run yet and i never will

His conscience can take him to his grave

This is no trial, this a closed case