This is a song about "Phone calls"

Real street nigga, ain’t no clone

Out at night mama hit my phone

Born alone, work alone, die alone

Everyday calling my mom on her cellular phone.

The mother of these feelings calls herself dispair,

No need to trip, you can tell em that i’m cool as hell

Put my number in your phone

Soon as i get home

So i went down south but i ended up north

My gun your scars, your wrist your calls

When she got home she looked at her phone to see 4 missed calls from

Thats why we're always goin and we don't gotta go with them

Like that drop out who created my phone

I'm definitely in a class of my own

How did they know? i didnt make any calls?

Signing off brother ali, sincerely yours