This is a song about "Native indians"

That in it's native alphabet, you can't understand

Always on the road again, with omega or the band

Give me tall glass, coconut ciroc, please, no soda pop

Got up, voice says look up, surrounded by members of the native mob,

And i don't do colorful jeans or shiny kicks

Nine eleven cant tell between arabs and indians

Only her and i knownow i'm sitten' in tha state pen

Single father raising hits, ending them makes me a native then

And it's time to make a real native separation from the fake friends

Cause i'll be honest: i ain't tryna be a victim of the projects

Whats his native people, find it harder for nights to sleep through,

I hope you see that i'm sincere, and even if you