This is a song about "More followers"

Buy a dime, maybe more, finish that than smoke some more,

Billy-club chainsaw, i’m coming through their front door

Ima go until my arm's sore

Who shows her face no more

I killed more time, more crack to sell

Threw 70 bands, bet 50 stacks, oh fuckin well

I ain't trynna be forward

The world around me, more and more blurred

To speak from the soul and just leave it with them

Rotten bodies piled up, goners or followers men