This is a song about "Sons"

No rest for the wicked, or the clean purest of sons

I ain't never gonna bow down to your expectations

Father was rich enough to pay, child would never have any sons

Just cause you change what you pitching, don’t make the difference

Sons and daughters wander through the slums for running water

I tell them killers they ain't figure what they fightin' for

There she go, just what the doc's been lookin for

Can't you see it only makin ya sons suffer?/

Every one of her sons must hear

I don't know, obviously i disappear

Polluting my computer are the sons of such medusas//a mess

Becoming a good rapper ain't that easy of a process

All for dough to close the mouths of the hungry sons whom she bestowed her vows

I step through the stomach, replace the baby with some fucking pounds