This is a song about "Portrait of a dead corpse"

Upholstered with dead remnants of muscle and bone

The j gets smaller, i'm loving my zone

Your heart was false just like the words you said

No need for a gassed head, i'll have you slashed, dead,

I take ‘em to the crib and leave our future in a condom

So i bet him till he's dead with a bottle of rum

We're young and we don't give a fuck

I'm not strung out and dead of luck

You know if you was harder than me then you'd be lead

Ain't no more of writer's block, fightin' hot, hip-hop is dead

She got the bomb, i'm talking tick tick

Or of the innocent dead we predicted

Leasin' a vehicle quick enough to see people that don't even exist yet

Of willing to aim, a gun, to your forehead, its not fun, to wish you were dead.

We ain't hear to hurt nobody

Cause you're dead as a dad to me