This is a song about "Son of satin"

Acting like he's the son of god, bitch fuck your whine

By the minute i was getting paid like a hot line

Bout to plan a 211, murder your partner he'll meet you in heaven

Packing a gun to punk you whackest of bums with no answers for son

Where i'm from is a circus hope you don’t expect a fair one

Shit, come down, its not that much of a suprise son!

No poor family wants to see his son gone in the middle of the day in harlem

Call that bitch rondoi'm fresher than the prom hoteach her, we don't fly coachshe fuckin' but she act dumb

Cheated on light skin dominique when we was seventeen

I'm so fuckin' southern i could be the son of paula dean,

Come on kids, fuck that class and hit that bong

I'm the lost son of god in the new page of psalm

It ain't about black or white cause we human

Two thousand one born a son of a gun

Blew the fuck up in gray clouds of thick smoke

Branded a son of middle-class folk,