This is a song about "R i p"

E-v-i-l cant you see this is i-r-l, do i gotta spit some internet slang to get it threw to you

I've only ever had poverty i wish i had a sell out price to pursue

So just pass the weed, i smash ‘em g’s, you can call my ass a master p,

If i see it how he seen it, that would make my parents happy

Fuck it its mmg, ima cross of def poetry and potent tree

And i still havent seen one bit of my p

That'd be the day his label treat him like a signal fade

Of a koenigsegg going 200 m-p-h trough the interstate

And what remains from a twelve gauge to the brainarguements with my boo is true

I think both of us r stuck together like the sky n the color blue/

Don't worry bout a thang baby

Just wait, this is not the end p