This is a song about "Max hanzlik"

Or closed casket for our troubles

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

My lyrics are ill to the max that's why they've thrown up,

Fuck it, momma's proud of her asthmatic thin fuck

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

I left the city for a minute but it's still on my back

America will find a way to eliminate the problem

I'm on max stun, my phasers ain't gonna taze ya, they gonna crack some,

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

And i can't even trip, cause i'm just laughin at cha

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

Still standin' and in love with my prideheard frivolous beats, we past that

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

Got the fridgedest temperature on my wrist again

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