This is a song about "Plain indians"

That god isn't finished with me yeti feel his hand on my brain

Fuck superman like lois lane, shit is simple and plain,

Electrical impulses bright in plain start to force the switch

I'm at morgan, howard, coppen, trying to find that higher knowledge

Of the very same baby that the virgin mary raised

Getting green like an avocado, but with plain taste,

You rain-bows, so you just skittles in plain clothes

That they probably be in the closet of old folks

I'm the grains for this plain to grow my game to success,

And wale been tellin' other rappers take a deep breath

I was fiending for the meals; i ain't talking burger king

My brains a blade slayin' , every spit is plain sailing

Nine eleven cant tell between arabs and indians

And if you disagree, suck a couple pimple-covered dicks