This is a song about "Road rage blow jobs"

Who life was for music and the road

When i'm on it, on it like my job

And it's cold, tryin' to travel this road

And yea i should’ve seen the signs by my first quote

And every day my mama drifts jobs like she's sleep-walking,

I was like a young simba couldn’t wait to be the king

Got in more trouble as i got up that age

Will only fuel my infatuate rage

I cop weed for less of a percentage than i fucking plot seeds

Is southern culture, still we got our fucking jobs overseas,

Cause all this pent up rage

Cause that shit just ain’t gonna change

Mediocre jobs are not so stable

I'm stuck in triangles, looking for my angel