This is a song about "How much curtis is a fucktard"

Fuck a cold sore, getcha getcha own cup

You a bitch homie how much for a dick suck?

How much wood could a wood chuck chuck

Run through the puddles, playin' in the mud

I really don't expect much, all i want is a little respect/

They say i walk around like i got a s on my chest

Now hire about street schemes, and getting blood money

'cause this much thought in speakers is a rarity

This is why i'm hot much hotter than a frying pan

You say the art's dying, nah brother buy an album, the plan

Every problem you ever had with another man i gotta face

Anything is possible, no matter how tall or how much the fighter weighs!

Puzzles me how she got so much, and made such a mess/

My bitches ballin' to the maya moore's, yes

And that's reallife that i was aimed to belove by my family tree

Just to see how much more crazy, is in me, check it on this delivery,