This is a song about "Russian peasants"

Hungry like the nigga who ain't got the taste of fame yet

There is no control, like a gun barrel in russian roulette,

Leaves the best of you emcees as peasants and fleas, you're destined to bleed

Listen to your friend get another man for a minute then repeat

The world should turn as soon as my records spin

But one last one, является ли это конец? russian

My mom is all i have so it's never meet the parents

The weight of my brethren ever so considered just peasants

My bitch bad, looking like a bag of money

I could win an oscar, russian accent husky

On my mama nigga, i be gone for months

Talking "bitch, you're now in the presence of peasants"

Sting like a bee then float away peacefully like a dove, kinda like rap think i'm in love

U said ma family is a bunch of peasants yet u consider me one of the legends.