This is a song about "My b"

And you ain't bothered a bit now, baby

One day my dad told me if i didn't get a b

Just plain pat visions with some sick aim

Emcee m b, remember the name.

Make my erector set into a b52

Six-fifty, three hundred my shirt free

I know that b**ch won't turn my body to stone

I date a white girl soundin' black on the phone

My j-o-b to roast or fry this age old beef till the mic is h-o-t,

Everything is good but these haters wish i would stop

I don't need no props b/

Please boo what's your size crazy

[b] better be broadcasting billions of my beats and bops, baby,

But i'm more scared of weddings than a funeral lately

U about to get murdered b

20 racks really thats sneaker money