This is a song about "Machines"

That's why i keep my pistol when i walk the streets

My rhyming's like the finest thing since time machines

Sleeping in a cell, it's been 30 weeks

Spendin money on machines,

Know what they mean, everything ain't what it seems

No one stopping this elite team of dangerous machines

As i stare at the ceiling fan, as a fan of these wicked streets

Of how they keep you still and down, convert people to machines

Yeah, you swear your girl is faithful; everything ain't what it seems

My #dollars turn in more #chips than fucking vending machines,

That you allow me to work it 'til you know what your actual worth means

I spit verses hard and mean statistics say mine are fighting machines,

People love hodgy i hate you though

Tryna wire machines but its a no go.