This is a song about "Matthew fowler"

Mouse slowly carouse to rat, as swings the bat, robbing house after house

I step through the stomach, replace the baby with some fucking pounds

You frail artist, ima get rid of ya stale garbage

Fat sack of knives in the passenger side, bitch

So you wanna settle it now carryin' that plastic kid's bat?

It’s a fact that i ain’t givin’ up my stacks like that

Buy some french fries, then i get high

I bet you've never seen a pig fly

Your bitch got the tendency to run and check the mail

Man your lyrics are so stale, your delivery is frail,

Who would have thought i made this a career

Or who f*ckin' on who, need a pap smear

And have them peoples leakin' like they cd isn't mastered

Yellow feathers splittin letters like big bird

I snatch your girl if you're slipping

Aligns career rebuilding...