This is a song about "Rates and conversions"

I coulda swore i was driving pretty peaceful

, iffy and pitiful , shitty and beautiful,

Fresh to death that bullshit irrelevant

And remember what i said and

And more than confident

Grab the scissors and saws and

And kill yourself and your clique

The revolution will proceed

Be that day to remember trying to chance their perception

But if you're a millionaire, fuck tax rates, a higher section,

On murder and the rising crime rates, pimps and prostitutes,

Honest, sincere, they seersuckers, lying in suits

And don't ever (and don't ever)

You wife ain't shit, we g'd her

Wale, more times than not, am not for whom the air waves

Young black males targeted by alarming arrest rates,