This is a song about "My asss"

My words are my rhythm

I'm a son of a gun

He in bootcamp, you on food stamps

Got my head in my hands.

Thats how i live my life thats my motto thats my armor.

If its not couture, i will not go to her

She do it with no hands

My shit thigh like my bootstraps

Aimin' at his partner who know he up next

My wondrous success bombs my regrets

My demeanor, thirty years my senior

It's like we both forgot what we were fightin' for

My streaks my testament.

I’m coming back like light-skin and

My shirt, purple label my shirt

Yeah you know i got that work