This is a song about "Skill"

It's terminally, permanently, seriously ill

Y'all can't stand up on my level, can't reach my lyrical skill,

Get my fill on with this grandmother named jill

When i'm done with you, you will notice who has the skill

This is my skill, i'm making a choice

Nigga 50 million up on these fuck boys

Is when a person has a artistic skill

Forever i ain't run yet and i never will

I'm not degrading my crusade what i do takes skill,

You fumbled in a drill, young man get on the hill

That's double your skill and triple the syllables.

I've got a paper plane, it's propelling my buzz

You cant keep up with this skill

Lady at the frank stand will

I like my glasses filled, as if it has to spill

To productively go slow to show ,my truest skill,