This is a song about "Plucking dingleberries out of your asshole"

I am not paying no motherfucking retail for purple label this summer

Just like when you're plucking the last fucking pedal off of a living flower

People be tellin' me i need me an african woman

I see your love and radiance coming out of michael my son,

I spitting bars the metronome the money machine

Your lyrics got me reaching for some asshole itching cream.

Had i not been exposed to these things

To knock you out of your senses

And i know you miss me tooshe sighed then she said

Son, you think your good, get it out of your head,

Killin' ya out of your speakers.

And this world's mine, but the womb is hers

18 year sentence with no parole

Rhymes i shot up your asshole.

They say to get a hundred mill you must become the devil

Get out of your apartments, mt is now nonresidential