This is a song about "Sanswich"

Now money is a service, but it's worthless, there's no purpose, shit,

Should know opportunity's a bitch you often see with the rich,

Service the discursive lurkers in the furthest mergers of a scary circus,

I'm hot like the backlash backdraft from sugar packets packed with anthrax

At a funeral service lurking and snatching purses

Turn you niggas into urns, my furnaces re-furnish,