This is a song about "Ratchet gir"

I spit on it, i'm ratchet, make a racket when i grab the pen,

Ignore cus she mad again, then i hit her back again

Dodgin ratchet hoes, like im dodgin these cones

Cause you must have known, i can't trust the phones

Bats and hatchets at the ratchet rappers, automatics,

Because that booty mad thick behind your juicy ass lips

That passed on, they in heaven, found peace at last

He smoked, she drank, he stoned, she ratchet, he clank.

Tipping acid, little ratchet

And i'm still high, so i'm tryna dip

Your temper tantrums are ratchet too pacifists to catch it

I stay with grandma, she always bitching about her carpet