This is a song about "Max paperclips lily pasta"

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

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

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

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

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

Nigga, don't be nervous nigga, say somethin'; trust me guys, he can rap

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

Ok i’m wale but you can call me nada

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

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

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

Matter fact i am farmer john milkin' cattle tracks

She said look ma, no hands and no darling i don't dance

These flows keeping it up to the maximum cause the max

Confidence to the max multiplied by ten, finally coming out of the den/

Then start again, don't have no muthafuckin' friends niggalook inside the heartz of men