This is a song about "Scraps"

Writing off scraps of the paper, know i might not make raps that are major

And so the muscle flow is something you can't get no muzzel for

It’s a party in my pants and you invited with all that dance

Searched endlessly to find a style that dispersed my scraps

Help out a friend who's living with the rats and eating scraps

And dj's play my records cause i make the needles dance

Blare recorders with static scraps but don't blame the orders when the matic taps.

When timbo is in the party, everybody put up they hands

Yo, i'm a hot and bothered astronaut crashing while

Until all that's left is scraps, all bloody and dire

But i don’t knock you i just blame it on your old head, rats

Help out a friend who's living with the rats and eating scraps

Cause i got a big fetish with the feet

Use to get the bone scraps now i get the good meat