This is a song about "Pakistanis"

Im not worried, or discouraged, you see us and you know we spit mad verses.

Loadin out with my rap service, let it out on the pad i make the whack versions

Now money is a service, but it's worthless, there's no purpose, shit,

Now all i want is more my little pony toys to play wit

Ripe and furbished with lies and cries tied in earth's cervix

At a funeral service lurking and snatching purses