This is a song about "Rows"

All these grave stones kept in clean little rows,

Sorta like drano...you know how the game goes

I never judge a murder by weapons, only the rage

I sit on the stage, no rows at my shows, i live in a cage,

Body doze, who ? give em karate blows

All these grave stones kept in clean little rows,

Best stay away when the door closed, i show up with four hoes

For those you claim friends commit, get in the thunder cold, plant the rows

Thats just not how the fuck it goes, so bitch, sit the fuck down, in the rows

See baby lately seems my life been hell and heaven knows

Fuck your rows at fans at your shows and damn that ain't true,

If i don't diss another nigga you dont get that issue

And my ex hoes, she pop ex rows

No, no, we are not those

My shirt, purple label my shirt

He eats rows of em with mustard