This is a song about "Jeremy the meanie"

In the field of the damned, the only sentries are the crows.

No bullshit, every shy bitch can get a rose

The bigger the the fun

My drive is like no one

From the cradle to the grave

I’m turned up, i can’t feel my face

Your the boat without the paddle

This bag is from seattle

After the fire, comes the rain

Ain't heard dc since sardines came

For all the killas and the 100 dollar hoes

The more battles the better the flows

We the motherfucking best, word to my mama

So call the coroner or the mortician for the the

I hate bein' trollin' freakin' n fallin'. i hate you preachin' meanie and moanin'

Shall increase when we meet up in this dark placeyou might think you're happy with him