This is a song about "Mother fucking like clock orange bliming blowing for agent orange"

He's creatin' them scenes, his new clockwork of orange,

You so f-full of your-s-self that you just sit and judge

She gon' shake that little ass while they rain with that cash

A'int nobody like your mother fucking bitch ass,

Flyer than the rest of ‘em, i hold the beat to reinforce

Vivid detailed scriptures about purple rain on orange floors,

Syringe, an orange, an extension cord, and a ninja sword

Yeah, um, as you can probably tell from listening to this record

And a nigga have ‘em beefin’ on who gon' twist up my new growth

My nigga i'm blowing o's, she blowing coke, candy for the nose

When he see the jugs he will wanna rush to get a quick touch

'round the clock, till i make my own clockwork of orange,

Like if i was to peel back your skin like a orange peel,

Won't heat or burn me, i'm the coolest nigga here

But you’re my fucking mother

Shade doesn’t matter, heart makes the lover