This is a song about "Norwegian to my bone"

For the dough you'll be like doe, stuck at home

Chicken bone, not a phone, chicken bone, not a phone

That she really only loved talking about all the men she used to bone

I feel something change in the weather, and i’m home, home, home

Use to get the bone scraps now i get the good meat

Faith, all you need is the size of a mustard seed

Real street nigga, ain’t no clone

And one bitch who bad to the bone

Or just another one of my black jesus traps

But i will keep on pushing till my, back bone cracks

Broke, only skin and bone, wishing all his troubles to be gone

You brought and chose, guess she moving on, yep, we do it wrong

A bunch of fucking wolves and rats having niggers the size of shaq

I'll fight unil my bone collapse don't give a fuck if my knuckles do crack

I'm looking down on you fakes whilst on my throne throwin yous a bone.

Out in haiti, adolescents barely have a home