This is a song about "Proffesor"

Now money is a service, but it's worthless, there's no purpose, shit,

Snap her adam's apple, have a laugh, and toss her off a bridge

Turn you niggas into urns, my furnaces re-furnish,

At a funeral service lurking and snatching purses

Secret service insurgents observe me nervously

My punch lines make you bleed internally,