This is a song about "Job production"

Lock my heart up, this is jail, throw away the key

Your production quality is way bad, sloppy

You have no job, just lazy.

But five years from now i bet she see

We'd have you fallin' and now you scrapin' from that kemba shake

Got me engraved in this sofa, zero production is what i make.

On the top, was my pops, my momma screamin stop

I'm just sayin' i got fuckin' problems, mama's got a job,

I'm a fucking walking paradox, no i'm not

Then i switched the grill on the chevy, got a nose job

Or something that you paid for

If thats your job, call me the saboteur.

Okay man you do the drop

Hand on knob, gotta do the job