This is a song about "Pan"

Holla; cheech chong & folarin, only get high when my lows come often

You faggots had your chance to pan me, i plan to be grimy son,

Spit rounds gotchu dancing prancing peter pan type shit

Sippy cup full of whip creamed hot chocolate

I got masterplans for haters toss em in the fryin pan

Somebody need to tell 'em that they can't do it like i can

Now you go hit me like this with a frying pan

Them ignorant thrashing mothafuckers is my gang

Dear momma don't cry, your baby boy's doin good

A dead-pan soul attributed to this kid/

I loved peter pan when i was growing up

Drinking liquor and i'm looking for some hoes to fuck

Fuck whoever said the rap game wasn't edible man

This is why i'm hot much hotter than a frying pan

Still the man with the pan

She ain't got a man