This is a song about "Separating mixtures"

D-low where's the trigger, i'll let this bullet play hero.. bang

You start separating quicker with every fucking week man

Separating your body from your face then eating your name,

Now you scratchin' on my back, i see your pleasure in my pain

Minds lucid from the mixtures

Fresh out the chair with the clippers

Your blind eyes to the prize i've dyed in mixtures/

I refuse to be another being on this earth

Separating paradigms deprecating megatron

At dinner with hov hoping that he pass the baton