This is a song about "Ratchet people"

Them people weak them people weak

Misdemeanored that twenty bag of weed

Your temper tantrums are ratchet too pacifists to catch it

Like a monica skinded with a madonna spirit

The root of all evil

Inhabit the minds of people

Now most of us be rootin' for this evil

Dont we have enough death , people

Inhale my color purple

From the people who control to people

Questions enter the minds of people

So all that other shit you on dead, burial

And now we high

People steal, people die,