This is a song about "Master strike"

Psych! already tried before, that phone call equals a fueled strike/

I'm a geophyte, move under the ground til i can see the light

But shawty know i'm a rapper

Because back then i wasn't a master

Stack up your funds like a million bucks

My rhymes strike like acid chemicals,

In case i betray my people and master

The red album, lil red shortie, you can't touch her

And i won't be lyin' when i say i’m a sick rapper

I'm like fine art or a lyrical master,

Always found common ground when i was the one they could strike...

A lil' closer let me see you in the spot light

Hiding under your bed waiting for the right time to strike

Body 2 body baby, we gotta do this right