This is a song about "Phantom s"

We don't believe you, you need more people

It’s sick and spiteful, 2pac’s twisted grim disciple

And 808's and synths, riffs, and guitars, hard, for sure

I'm so pure, so sick it's no cure

Go into their room hella silent like a phantom

Move on, a war going on outside no one is safe from

Till you scream " what s my what s my name whats name!!!!

I hope you studied because he's testing your faith again

Opera man, you must be a phantom, 'cause i can't find any talent in your lines.

Cuz id be lyin and yall be fine chase bread with my dog muthafucka felines

S queezys very bold

Black woman you cold

Thanks to you, d p s drowns!

Hundred k in twenty-two hours