This is a song about "I just crapped my pants"

I just wanna chill, but my evil twin

High off life? my nigga not even

Need it in my hands, and i need it in my pants

We getting money, you can face the facts

And i will pull down my pants and proceed to sit

Sippin then call a cab nobody know their limit

To be the man in this wicked land underhanded hits are plannedscams are plotted over grams and rocks

At six i was making the girlies pants drop while i was playing in the motherfuckin' sand box

Notice it every time i pick up the microphone and spit

These damn rhymes are falling out of my pants pocket, i can't stop it

I just pray for my father in jail.

Ha, dead broke tryna get a bail

Real nigga no pistol to keep to shoot her

Still you couldn't know my psyche, liar, pants on fire,