This is a song about "Max getting no sex"

I'm not getting no therapy

Nah, i wouldn’t wish fame on my enemy

They all are pretenders, i am the 7th letter

No such thing as done, only getting better,

Making g's was my missionmoving enough of this shit to get my mama out the kitchen and

No other way to describe the punks who got no aspirations other than getting drunk

Almost cried right on the spot

No, nobody's getting shot

11.1.11 is when it all makes sense

Just who is malcolm sex

You kiss that amethyst, and bet it's getting no better than this,

And if i give it to you, don't you treat me like them bitches

Let em marinate, you forever late

No more bang bang getting neutered or spayed

No religion i was getting saved by the glock nine

Art design, archin' mine, fresno to clarke i'm fine