This is a song about "Phases of matter"

As a matter of fact i did happen to have some weed

I'm in a rare breed, extraordinary league

Matter of fact, i'm dying cause you suck so much

Pessimistic we are, carry odds like luggage

Kill em all, fuck em all. hip-hop really is alive

Do i doesn't matter if you just walk out of my life,

A perfect angel-a, matter of fact that's what her name is.

I’m just a young nigga caught up in this rap business

High outer space no atlas got a lot of bait

Playin' like he'd play me, phases of lame statements made

And i won't be lyin' when i say i’m a sick rapper

A bunch of knuckle fucks who snuck a buck but it doesn't matter

But the truth of the matter is,

Pocket racked up all big faces

Or will we matter? in the end, this rendition of life

No top on mine, niggas gonna hate, man fuck them guys