This is a song about "Hittin that"

Like food for thought was my father but i ain't have the hunger

I'm an automatic spittin bullets hittin the listener

A disease, involves me hittin that green

But i wear mine on my head, supreme

But i got cousins overseas that come to me for better clothes

And have you screaming like rnb singers who hittin' high notes

Apb called for killin two pigs in the field, hittin a double

Let's keep it g, nobody see you when you being humble

And have you screaming like rnb singers who hittin' high notes

Now son is the only onegrows up in adoption homes

You an amateur, they wanna pro to call

Hittin your door while your car's spinning, hitting the wall