This is a song about "Marching on"

Or something that you paid for

Your on fire.. your on fire

You wear a shirt, my records sell yes sir

Your on fire.. your on fire

As: can’t wait to pork your mom

Aight, keep going, on and on

Swisher almost gone, hold on

Pay dues like a hair salon

Full of shit, like i ate that john

Feel your chest on top on

My sim card's the bomb

Now im getting them on

I cop weed for less of a percentage than i fucking plot seeds

We got fourty thousand soldiers now marching down yous streets

Bleeding on the carpet, drooling on my chin

Times in this crime land, my thug nation