This is a song about "Parshav is a nigger"

Up all night with college hoes, edibles and bong hits

Not a nigger, not a blood, never been witht the crips,

I ask myself "how will you write when you suffering writers block nigger?"

And if they all in your business then you don't need a twitter

But, shorty i'm far from a saint

And this is only a taste

You wear a shirt, my records sell yes sir

Put those fake nigger s to do my labor

I show her off, i stunt with her, we do it sweet, they look bitter

But all i hear is "nigger nigger" my rhymes are sicker

Everybody is a winner, nobody is a fake

Collection of freestyles that i just want to make

So i told her i got something you've been waiting for

Play with life like a game, so i'm a nigger with my own spinner

Just another dead nigger what the fuck do you expect from some one who

And what remains from a twelve gauge to the brainarguements with my boo is true