This is a song about "Old kris thompson"

I ain't tricking but they see you as a pot of gold

I've murdered so many verses its getting old

All this paper i fold

Then those bitches who grew old.

And smacked her so hard i knocked her clothes backwards like kris kross

Sent to earth to poke catholics in the ass with saws

When the rhyme itself starts getting old

Fearin what it show you, reality is gold

Golf wang kill them all nigga, triple six

The kris kringle of rap servin little kids

Can’t tell your girl so she the center fold

And if i everest, i won't die old/

Like this, be poppin' kris tha lyrical twist comin'

Snorin' in the bed with blankets cause my head spin

Since i was a day old,

But for long time i had gone cold