This is a song about "Max"

I diss wiggas that do this shit. i'm pissed the fuck off to the max man so fuck it.

Every time i walk inside the house, she always tend to start shit

Have they all forgot who made this golf shit hot again

It's not a game when i tell you, that i feel this max payne

Mad, just like max, you must be glad you had a patch/

Swear this closet full of heat, bitch i never need a match

When i cock the beam back, i'm aiming for supreme hats

And now i'm amplifying my shit, turing it to the max,

Through the microphone, max alone, hold the throne, slam ya,

My momma a og which makes me a don dada

Illustrated my lyrics are ill and that gets you frustrated so welcome max version

Call that bitch rondoi'm fresher than the prom hoteach her, we don't fly coachshe fuckin' but she act dumb

Took her to the club bought her three more bottles

Yh, we do it air max,on the ankles/

This a mad world, and im mad max,you a bag girl,your raps are mad whack

Wocky, she's a dancer, walkie-talkie ace for back up like fag