This is a song about "Marcques jones"

Now son is the only onegrows up in adoption homes

See i live up in a shotgun home, niggas think they're prophet jones,

I fucked my whore than stabbed her in the heart, like im an indian from indiana jones,

Without choice or hope to voice our own noiseless mope of far away homes

They pull you in and destroy you like manson or prophet jones,

That they probably be in the closet of old folks

Just blink twice and i’m there where you are

And be found, deep down, in davey jones locker.

Family is all i need but indeed them too can run me right up a tree

Obviously detective with it, got em jones in like barnaby

He's a mixture of mathers, jones, and lamont coleman,

Put them out randomly hopin' that i get some

And you don’t understand my slang my colloquial’s lovely

Its so crazy jones and az, its so lovely sippin on bubbly