This is a song about "Road rage blow jobs"

Fuckin' up my gold pots

You sell yourself for better jobs

Motivation from nipsey or glasses, jay rock

Im cleaning up these haters like my jobs to hold a mop

If i'm getting geetchi i can rock three chains on either block

We're working nine-to-five at different jobs, around the clock,

And i doubt that ever change

I get pissed and go in a rage

My music feeds on sadness and rage,

Try doing what you doing but it’s out of range

One that doesn't end in psychotic rage,

I grabbed the ak, my homie took the 12 gauge

Fuck the fat lady, it's over when all the kids sing

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