This is a song about "Jacob bream"

Phoma is having dinner, while the killer's awaiting by the river

And so the muscle flow is something you can't get no muzzel for

You're gonna sink in the river, with no liver

I’m picking through the crowd tryna see a little clearer

Bass drop, low end is a gut punch

I feel they praisin too much

That shit was ludicrous/ her pussy smelt like tuna-fish

Tired of sifting through my mail i feel like cartwright, bills

And me and them rappers we don’t share no common ground

Was thrown in a river by morons and nearly drowned

I tacked, now my eyes bare they aren't john smith blank stares,

Welcome to my diary, stressing got me gray hairs

Fuck what they selling, it's reality living in the mirror

After the dog is done his feast take him down to the river

Stampede in this game like the hawks of the sea

First one to spot you and i ain't telling nobody