This is a song about "Out of ideas"

They play musical chairs once i'm on that pedestal

Ideas sexual but the rules not flexible,

It's been nothing but pain

Run out of drinks, no complain

I'm a fucking rap god, niggas going wear me being crucified on the cross and

From those who defended the right to ascension among ideas of commitment

I'm running out of air

I said hey, you right there

From hell your out of prison

And i am one of one

I rose out of the darkness

Don’t you be holding back, your love

They bringing me fish and chips

Out of this coviction of feelings

My rhyme ideas come out so fast i need four pads

Rocking black and gold stocking caps and fleur-de-lis shockey hats