This is a song about "I ain t got no type"

These hoes say i'm a poet i try to make em different

I got the type of bump that make a bitch wanna hump

Fumble or you crumble, get murked on the humble

I aint the type to get comfortable

I drew designs for consumer's minds so in time

Girl no matter what you do you ain gonna cross the line,

Ain t happenin!!! you bitches faker then 8 mannequins

We used to be like distant cousins, fightin, playin dozens

Now i got no stress just love and there's no pressure

A breakdown broad oh she could of done better

Hit towns with coke, a .45 blue as chrome

Got no help from no one i work alone.

But i ain't got no weed, no phillies, or no papers

I live the street life, ya heard? guns, money and birds

My type has no replacement lurin bitches to my basement.

Told the fucking faculty that he was at a meeting and