This is a song about "Indian kid"

Fistful of wood, twisted for the good

So keep playin the game kid

But most times i'm not, i be lifted

Wassup phoma, slow down kid!

All my west indian niggas got me speaking creole

Baby i beg to differ, bet you can polish a pole

There's always that one kid

I don't trust nonelook what the 80's did

And if you had more street cred then you'd be dead

Slice your neck until your face turn indian red,

The law keeps stopping this problem kid

I regret some shit i did

There lived a lil' boy who was misled

Watch your body turn indian red,