This is a song about "Shimmy shimmy ya"

I just gotta mock ya,

But dont go in raw

Kicks new, my denim, raw

And thats all because ya

I'll detect ya wearing ya grandmothers sweater i

Getting high, see the demons in my eyes, before i die

But instead i got a sister, just like me with her mister nada

I'll give ya post traumatic stress disorder as my rhymes kill ya

Whether you rhyme slow or the beat fast

They said show me ya gats, ya cash, ass ya smashed

I ain't, mad, at cha

Im moving right past ya

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

Fantastics, grandmasters attending funerals past ya

Beautiful are thou, africa

Climb through ya window i bet i touch ya.