This is a song about "I like your raps machine"

Like your raps are crusty.

That's why i'm makin' money

She said look ma, no hands and no darling i don't dance

Like everyone saying “faggot” when i spit raps

And red alert was puttin in work, with chuck chillhad my homies on the hill getting ill, when shit was real

Like your a machine without a heart your working , like im talking , and telling you how i feel

She's cute but her forehead's big

your raps are sick like an ill dick

"listen to the track bitch!" echoes

Your raps have a limp like the 50 cent hoes

I could feel it deep inside, i was a killing machine.

Got a pocket full of cream, my moccasin's clean

I guess i crunched yo bones in half, a machine like ed reed built me

Grandma called, see me on the billboards around the city

The white boy sees this as a clearance, now its

Your raps stink, just like your shittin' armpits.