This is a song about "My hitta"

Glad trash bags, throw them in the black bags

My shit thigh like my bootstraps

Now son is the only onegrows up in adoption homes

Inside my eyes, cameras replaced my rods and my cones

Grab my knife and my gun

Tryna find the one

Ay yo you wonder who i are

Ditto drat her hitta hater

My demeanor, thirty years my senior

I'm on my grind feeble, my music is either

My wondrous success bombs my regrets

Monday through monday we be cashing checks

My words are my rhythm

Flyer than the rest of them