This is a song about "Son of satin"

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

Ridin' in that es with my nefertiti queen

Sick twisted prick, sick sadistic son of a biscuit

For the next one to call me up talking that shit

The son of the holy father who died up on the cross

Ay sallie, i know i ain't been answering your calls

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

Instead they lock me in the cell just for sellin dope

Wall vermillion, if she stays the night she gets a satin robe

Cause in my criminal mind, nobody violates the don

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

P stand for pacqiauo nigga

I'm the bastard son of a

That you cant beat me, go ask your mum, to buy you a pair of these skills, son

Like oh, when i see himi live a landslide occur when deers run