This is a song about "Killing and gangs"

They got me goin mad, i'm knockin busters on they backs

‘cuz they choose colors of bloods and crips in gangs,

Obviously oakland gangs ignore this carelessly

In the face of adversity, i prepared a verse to see

Yeah, that ain't you love, you can't fool love

But killing and hitting it off, leave you breathless/

And killing is a crazy person's symptom

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

Its laying on me and killing me

We the 93 chicago bulls baby

Now i cocking meth and killing cops

Yeah, tell me about the love of ours

Kidnapping girls, killing niggas for gangs

Left hand got ten bands; back pocket, four stacks

Made a living and a killing off it

Like how the fuck did we miss this kid's shit