This is a song about "Low skill"

This prada make me shallow

Hit the club she drop it low

Outkast landed, 3 thou was ill

And my necessary skill/

Cause every girl i deal and fuck, it's always against her will

Memories manifesting , reminding me of the skill,

They setting the bar low,

Shades: lv was a little dough

That bastard was buzzing like woody so we get it for free

I'm low-key but my skill is still seen like a memory

Loud pack, i propel. burgandy, out to kill

To productively go slow to show ,my truest skill,

See that's what we genius rappers call skill,

You fumbled in a drill, young man get on the hill

You see this ain't no a skill

For real, a nigga ill