This is a song about "Santana wicker"

Rock em sock em your fucking style is as plain as white rice

Feed niggas shells like my motherfucking beach is nice

He should of never fucked around with a sick ass nigga like methey call my name out and niggas run

An explosion on the mic as i weave a woven web of beauty, so seldom does it happen,

I spit lyrical fire, through each empirical wire

I can do that to a nigga and make a pool on her

Gotcha girl bobbin and weaving

In my drawsring, ring, ring

If he has a wire and says to a g "what's up?"

How can niggas blame us, i am not ashamed but

But everybody is a g with the weed in them

That'll be slowing the motion of the flowing ive woven

Never use the word ours i'm living in the minute

Trip 'n' slip over the wire-trip you flip into my pit.

Listen here, i ain't lookin for no tears

Dead trees or living trees, barbed wire or rusted fence