This is a song about "Manners about the dead"

You know i'm tryna kill that shit, make sure that urn is out

Interrogate about the dro when payrolls joked about

We forgot our manners, became actors and ignored the hazards

Usually it's the prophets, ask a cat what really matters

And i swear, my lord, i been down to earth

Excuse me i got better manners,

I'm about to teach you some manners.

My antennas will block the scanners

Know the niggas quick to spit they actors

I'm revisiting with no manners

For the next one to call me up talking that shit

We are the dead, ain't no denying it

Eyes of dead presidents, i plan the evidence,

Stealing a clip for anyone squealing they lips

Beat of the drum soon the rhythm of the dead.

And i know you miss me tooshe sighed then she said