This is a song about "Service desk"

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

Bangin' my face on my desk like i'm takin' a test and i'm blankin' on basically every question

Wear out tracks, let me do my thing, i got 16, for this roscoe thing

And hit up chess king and have the lady at the desk bring

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

It's hard to live out atlanta with out makin' this a habit

Somalia women ethiopian queens never could tell the difference

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

Secret service insurgents observe me nervously

I wear green hats because i'm fortunately lucky

He fathers her only kid that's why my homies let him live

At a funeral service lurking and snatching purses

You feeling when you be drillin' that shit

Take it like a man and go to the desk and sit,

Penetratin' the game on its cervix is my service

But i pray these everlasting groupies don't fuck up this love