This is a song about "My chic"

Shit, we don't believe none of them

My words are my rhythm

Grab my knife and my gun

Mami... she open, she open

My rhymes propellers, words my instrument

What the fuck? gee willikers and no, i'm not drunk

He in bootcamp, you on food stamps

Got my head in my hands.

Bring ya soulto tha true, let em know we come through

Both- baby you'll make my, my, my, my dream come true-----------

Boss in my hugo, floss like my tooth hurt

My shirt, purple label my shirt

Lost all my friends, my fam and my girl

And he, what's his name, earl