This is a song about "Jacob bream"

Spittin heat like a toaster cook you pop tarts

Lord, you're so pretty, lying in my arms

She tell you that's a lie, lie, lie

You face made blind children cry

Dutty wine for access, show me your neck

Basically blood leaked from her head

Fly nigga couldn't tell me nothing different homes

We got soul but no control, like john rambo rippin' throats

We was loonie i suppose, you could

Cook a verse send it out hardly a look

Before she fuck with ya head

You could say i'm friends with fred

And you call this shit rape but i think that rape's fun

But your the only fish that's after the sea-men/

You're the john mccain to his robert e. lee/

Yeah got to the club early just to get in free