This is a song about "Pigs mad at the columbian exchange"

Wocky, she's a dancer, walkie-talkie ace for back up like fag

But i'm not mad at you, i'm mad at me cause sometimes i make you sad

Let the beat spin like mad

Can't win with a passive attack

If they pigs/5-0/the fuzz we haul out

In the back seat and it's getting quite loud

All the lintel jugs like simpletons thinking these pigs is

Know i’m reppin’ this, shoot and i don’t ever miss

Homie will never love her, although he'll probably have a fit

And the walls fully padded fuck the world ive had it im mad at it

Apb called for killin two pigs in the field, hittin a double

No conspiracy, my fate is inevitable

Eyes all stickin' like honey on bees

Just then the pigs bust in yelling, freeze

At the park i bump into people tryin to make mad,

Money in a bag, stones be yellow as a cat