This is a song about "Papa rapa"

I'm on my grind feeble, my music is either

My papa saw that sad anger wire

You ain't gotta screw up your face in front of the kids

Papa said he was sick of seeing me in the pits

Papa set the beer down on the table and started to tear

We missed you on the charts last week, damn, that's right you wasn't there

You gave me a taste, now i know there's no getting off you

Slow down ya clock watch and spit like papa doc, hottest crew,

Fuck with a man as anxious as me and i'll be em, you be papa doc/

You need a team, a team of psychiatrists working around the clock

Ain't had shit to loose, pullin' my pistol on them fools

Imagine this, an inner-city kid without his papa dukes,

End it here before i'm famous and my papa shows up

Miami bound with my d.c. chick and we let it fly when we in the club

Get a little smart, want to change yo tops

I avoid that shit and order papa john's