This is a song about "Something to prove"

Hungry like the nigga who ain't got the taste of fame yet

And to prove it i can be virgin to my fucking dead.

To prove what i've got

And i don't make no bed rock

Can you prove there's something you can call your breasts?

Ayo baby, tell your friends... to get with my friends

Why you tryin to read me if you see there isnt any issues

My asian immigrant parents had something to prove

Hands up, throw me up against the wall

Just to prove to yall, that i can ball

Now concentrate until you get the juice

The message that i'm urged to prove:

11. there's still a little part of me that needs to prove,

Fuckin' up my prestige, till i live with the blues

I'll attest to the test, improve and prove i fight fair

A bunch of backstabbing niggas, hope the knife ain’t there