This is a song about "Jacob bream"

My bass deafening, rb i should be crediting/

Shawty look half indian and never say a thing

Sixty-two, without no tint; missing roof on my new shit

You claim you a thug crook a drug cook you ain't it

Bet you thirty dollars you find her like cartman found kenny, dead

Youre probably so embarrased that youre tomato red

I though i was red hot

That means i have no block

I'm the butcher, the cook and heart taker

Fed her acid now the duct tape quacks back at her

Fuck that now trying get the money

They say theres plenty fish in the sea

We in control, the people know i speak the truth

My asian immigrant parents had something to prove

And smash whores, bangin' in the car like shaky bass

I could spend my whole life tryna get cash