This is a song about "In the horns of dialema"

Shame on ya'll, you tryna ball with the game on pause

I have thoughts of gluing on horns on newborns,

In the back of my mind

By god, slow grind

My mind is void of sense but yet i'm still sharp as horns

Make your bitches' therapist ask for dental records

I keep it realer than randy with his rhinoceros horns,

I like to think i write and rap as tighter than some biker shorts

And the headrest had to have about eight thorns

Horn, the devil, extar pointed by fucking horns

And the middle of guns and in the middle of lies so

You see the furs and pendants, austin sigoto, drop though