This is a song about "Night calls"

While scheming on hits

Which calls for variations

There's a criminal on the loose, calls himself god zeus

I make my old bitch buy me all the latest shoes

Thought she hot i swear, probably rougher than hell

The mother of these feelings calls herself dispair,

With all that power, he calls everyone a coward

While niggas flirti'm sewing tigers on my shirt

Dress pimping-like and toast like less when

He calls it art when he arranges them

No phone calls no visits no contact at all

Hands up, throw me up against the wall

Hollow tip dum-dums eat flesh like piranhas though

Your phone's cocked, but i've blocked your calls to triple o

Get a bottle of ciroc and take a chopper to the party

I ignore the calls for blasphamy, pushing on my corrupted qi.