This is a song about "Market"

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

That's why i traded r. kelly my sister for a new hit

Backwoods don’t do papers, that was just for my haters

Because its a growing job market and i like computers

Put on the black market, skin sold as garments.

Together all the timethought it was true love

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

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

And they say i'm over heads cuz they don't understand... that

Until he sell his own cd's at the market

We gotta set our own market, and enforce it

Niggas dumb to be braggin bout that stupid shit

That's why i rhyme like a poet from a prior century

Organs pieced out and sold to black market elderly,

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

Rape her and record it, then edit it with more shit