This is a song about "I got no type"

With 80 racks in my pocket, nigga i go in all night

See what i type im flying with no pauses cos i learnt to write

I know their type, they're fucking petrified

Over me the same peeps that have died

Stop it, i'm hearin' the comments

I got no friends with no ends

I got no chance to spit, mc's got to kick the beat,

When it came to grams it was 90 i fried

Said that they tried to give him like a hundred years

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

Got a electrical eel type spit

Or never say never though i admit

Without you i ain't got no baby ruth

Girls say everything that i write smooth

Fuck the cops, i got no morals

Shout out my nigga miles