This is a song about "Market capitalism"

You try to call the cops a new snitches on the market.

The coupe i’m in is rented, i ain’t wit’ all that commitment shit

Front on the drug market, bodies get rolled up in a carpet

Ironin' you niggas now it's time to starch the shit

I'm open to the market

Fistful of wood, twisted for the good

Organs pieced out and sold to black market elderly,

You just servin yourself, go pull up to pump three

Put on the black market, skin sold as garments.

She need now, she ain't never needed love

The irony in that is that i ain't even that, but you put it those pages

Carcasses in carpet and drag em off to the market and sell em for charges

Then the gun shot, but i wasn't hit

I am the hardest in the market