This is a song about "Piccolo"

And the headrest had to have about eight thorns

Horn, the devil, extar pointed by fucking horns

This a mad world, and im mad max,you a bag girl,your raps are mad whack

Somebody tell satan that i want my fuckin' swag back

Words sharp like a jerry rice curl route

Then scoop up the wrong head to wash your skin flute

And then i'll lay you down and record soft porn

Torn apart, taken by storm, blow the war horn/

I used to sell them things in triangles

Yh, we do it air max,on the ankles/

Singin' to a man while they played piano

Yo, i'm seventeen, already sniffing blow

And we can't fall

Her tits are fucking small