This is a song about "Separating mixtures"

Everything was picture perfect till you moved the frame

Separating your body from your face then eating your name,

See me, i’d rather cut let ya body give birth

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

At dinner with hov hoping that he pass the baton

Separating paradigms deprecating megatron

Minds lucid from the mixtures

The way i'm sorting these pitchers

You say the art's dying, nah brother buy an album, the plan

You start separating quicker with every fucking week man