This is a song about "Small fry"

Or keep small it around four

Turn it up a little more

Of dissecting jeff beck into small compact sections

He took it to pitchfork, he couldn't get a sentence

Here they keep a rachet close

You get hit wit a small dose

I go to war, old timbs, battered boots

Small town guy, spend my time shooting hoops

So type ur best n i'll fry ur set take a minute n hour

Don't always fuck me good, i'm just too cheap to divorce her

They tried to take it, and say that i'm too small

Motherfucking 8 balls, til’ we live at the pool hall

I just wanna rip him into small pieces

But i need your faith in me, i'm a sucka for love

I got bigger fish to fry and wicked demons to conquer

Bet i be like fenway out in boston, my green is a monster