This is a song about "Pockets low"

Used to nun-chuck em, now i got to donatello bow

There's chronic seeds in my pockets, i should probably lay low

She say how low how low can you go?

My dick hates sweaters so she jack it slow

Yo i spit this shit and rock mockers like hot pockets,

From the palms of jeffrey dahmer, baby mamas said the kicks

I be, creeping lower than low

But i'm right back cause the fans couldn't wait though

Y'all niggas come last, i'm first though

They lay log i lay low

Churches searching for the pockets of the poor

But i'm done teachin' niggas though it's school

Shining a light on my lack of focus, broke pockets/

The white boy sees this as a clearance, now its

The dilemma is, you think i got no conscience

Like loch ness, i got 3 fitty in my pockets/