This is a song about "Punching throats"

Fly nigga couldn't tell me nothing different homes

We got soul but no control, like john rambo rippin' throats

Other words, fill ‘em up wit’ holes

If we ain't right and always at the throats

Lips, hips, hair drops down her back, crazy, body frame, crazy

Slaying when campaigning punching babies as if i was cam brady/

You shouldn't have used my face for punching bag you fucking fag,

Somebody tell satan that i want my fuckin' swag back

The look of no hope on my niggas' faces

The way i'm punching in these crazy phrases

Jealousy inside, make'em wish i diedoh my lord, tell me what i'm livin' for

Throats spilling, i hear there spilling happiness, ur probably the ugliest savior.

It was like we had a noose at our throats

Alot of episodesand as the glock loads

Making records they want, that was wrecking my brilliance

A toothbrush being shoved down the throats of your minions,