This is a song about "Ismam"

Turn you niggas into urns, my furnaces re-furnish,

At a funeral service lurking and snatching purses

Dial up words but they're not in service

And then bitch-slap her on purpose,

Service the discursive lurkers in the furthest mergers of a scary circus,

Bastard, hap hazardous track master, put a beat on and words become lavishly crass daggers/