This is a song about "Kelly kelly"

Just like a little snake creeping in the grass

And i got that drive and she just might crash

Am sick of being stuck for grass

Your life is a product of trash

Where her shadow cast, when she lands she'll smash like glass into the grass.

You fucking dead bitch chips, i'm on my fifth bag with your bitch ass

Obviously detective with it, got em jones in like barnaby

If you try to hang with me you should finally truly see

And the headrest had to have about eight thorns

Suited up head to toe in detective uniforms

Ya dead to me, brown grass nigga

The science and the art, africa

So much class, double d’s and ass

They all snakes in the grass

Plus she's glad for the little things she hasand over there there's a lady

In fact i'm the one who killed radio next in lines anthony casey,