This is a song about "Ratchet weave"

He should of never fucked around with a sick ass nigga like methey call my name out and niggas run

An explosion on the mic as i weave a woven web of beauty, so seldom does it happen,

If you see us in the club, we'll be actin' real nice

Any future we can weave, and if we leave

They talk about the clubs and the benz and ratchet bitches,

Don't know why you even ask, ain't nobody hot as this

Fuck your ratchet hoes, i kill the mic with spasmatic flows,

And a nigga have ‘em beefin’ on who gon' twist up my new growth

Bats and hatchets at the ratchet rappers, automatics,

My entendres be tumblin’ while you niggas lack balance

Now you got me hopped up on that

Tipping acid, little ratchet

Your temper tantrums are ratchet too pacifists to catch it

I stay with grandma, she always bitching about her carpet