This is a song about "Robbin"

It's like i'm an alien who alienates by the herd, so as far as being heard

'case a nigga get haphazard and start thinkin bout robbin a light skin bastard

Rollin' down the street, smokin' indo, sippin' on gin and juice

Of course i'm robbin' too, i ain't got the loot to cop some shoes,

Out in the district they selling water and buying pistols

Gangsters robbin', shooting back, mama's sobbing pedals,

I'mma need two mics just to get my point across

Robbin' emcees blind of skill, now he's poppin' shit off,

Fuck it its mmg, ima cross of def poetry and potent tree

Resort to robbin' to feed my family