This is a song about "Just saying you keep fuckin up my weekin talkin bout uu down tryin to kick it in my streeys"

One to keep in my room chained up and crippled.

A straight thug motherfucker who ain't scared to bust

Dub a.l.e., still a son of a gun

The green backs in my pockets be talkin

You think i'll get all soft just cause you're talkin shit to my mom

Haters must be starving nowadays i make california vietnam

Wolf gang in this bitch, nigga, we six feet deep

In this city so just bow down to my feet

While i'm tryin' to act like i'm not 'bout to crap my own pants

This bitch is badi dream of pockets full of bands

Up in my critter cage hard to keep my balance but no worries i got me some magnets.

But i'm from jers' and we don't play that shitfrom the clare down to north bricks, all my niggas flipping chips

Keep talkin shit i'll punch you in the forehead so hard your brain turns to mush

Lord, forgive me, as a kid, i used to look at niggas jealous

Pick my enemies out the crowd, and motherfucker's die

I'll keep you up in my prayers, up there above in the sky,