This is a song about "People like to be the heroes and stuff"

Overseas, i can put you on my dream team

And much good stuff like homemade ice cream

Still stomping the chumps when they mouths get to talking that stuff

Lookin' out, retarded kids screamin' out fuck slob, jesus

The same people i like to stalk, and bury alive

You ain’t seen nothing yet, bitch, this just my friday ice

Where people claim to be the greatest rapper since big or kane

And showing you and yours that breaking rules is fucking cool again

To a different state were me and the people like this dont relate

Of better days when you ain't have to settle for whatever played

People laugh at the intelligence, seem to be mean

Got a pocket full of cream, my moccasin's clean

Kush, baby mama-less; yeah no seeds

Tricks keep the stuff and hate creeps

Like all the stuff that i hate was about to inflate

That'd be the day his label treat him like a signal fade