This is a song about "Max woodrow"

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

We vegetables, on them record labels

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

That i never had, but wrote it in my raps to make you mad

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

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

Get your revenue popping before you ever do talk on them

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

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

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

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

I turned into something they never became

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

From the homies, cuz shorty wanna be a thug

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