This is a song about "Service centre"

No not the heiress just one from an escort service

I'm in new york now, like akeem and semmi was

But all she ever want me to do is unhook her bra

Your in the centre spotlight the world can see ya

Walking in the centre, hit me and i mush like feta

You trying hard to maintain, then go headcause i ain't mad at cha

Loadin out with my rap service, let it out on the pad i make the whack versions

Somalia women ethiopian queens never could tell the difference

Don't call it a comeback, i been here for years

At a funeral service lurking and snatching purses

She mighty fine but i notice that her heart resides next to bitterness

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

And rhyme like carlcee. i tell about my service like its my own fuckin policy.

I wake up at the slightest peep, and my sheets are 3 feet deepi guess it's hard for you to see

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

Maserati’s my birthright car, pass it, i need another hit