This is a song about "Leave the job"

And she throws up whatever she eats

You can't leave the ghetto streets

Spit selvage my nigga, it's in my jeans

Not a whack job that packs crack rocks in the streets

But little to no interest after election

But i love my job, getting rid of the defection.

Couple of foreign cars that i ride, no top

Fed up with all the frauds and left y'all without a job

Then she riding on the topshe about to make it pop

He couldnt flip a pancake.. i wonder how he got the job

With their own versions and different shitthe same night i prayed to god

So i can prove you bastards wrong, and fuckin finish the job

When slick rick was spittin la-di-da-digaming the hoochies at the neighborhood block parties, i remember

Finish the job and fill my trunk with the carcass and sever whatever's gonna hang over the fender

Fight the master and leave,

You make a nigga sing songs nice