This is a song about "Max neuman"

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

Thick legs, big ole jugs legs stick like rims on the truck

Rocking black and gold stocking caps and fleur-de-lis shockey hats

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

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

I'm tryin to keep income comin' in and collect on my ass cap

Ok i’m wale but you can call me nada

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

I love that hour glass shape you got up on that frame

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

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

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

Or closed casket for our troubles

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

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