This is a song about "Matthew fowler"

God forgive and we don't, keep my circle small you can't get in my crowd

Polo purple like the dope i'm hittin, knock yo bat out call it batter out

Fuck these attackers cos i duck hazards

Said that they tried to give him like a hundred years

Hawk up venom, i'm a street poet through rigorous times,

And, yup, i gave lyrics a reason to want to live

I'm singin poems for supporters of my songs

Find a size fourteen, get the death's head moth

I call that insecure, sh-sh-shawty think she all that

Sick enough to hawk vomit, on every inch of carpet

The look of no hope on my niggas' faces

Is less then any thing like the tony hawk is

You're bat skills won't matter when i'm on missionary

If you try to hang with me you should finally truly see