This is a song about "Middle class white boy gangsters"

They say i walk around like i got a s on my chest

The wealthy are top two, upper middle class is eight percent,

Branded a son of middle-class folk,

Ain't nothin funny, fuck a joke

Most of america is not middle class or stacking the green,

If i don’t make it, then somebody tell my son screen

Dinner time she bring a friend, write my shit so vicious

White middle class parents are sayin' rappers get paid to cuss,

And, uh, i don’t know what keeps me alive, shit

Little white gangsters, i'd call that phase ironic,

She used to make good money, and we were middle class,

You fucking dead bitch chips, i'm on my fifth bag with your bitch ass

Don't make me shoot up this place with light sabers and guns

And that ain't shit in poor neighborhoods but middle class silence,

Boy in a flash its like you start to replace him

That to white, middle class america needs explainin',