This is a song about "Sons of liberty"

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

Everybody seems to misread every sentence

Fuck, clean up on aisle six

Out of this coviction of feelings

Exclusives, y'all never seen

Sons and daughters, thanks for bein

Fast life like born on wednesday and died on thursday

Yelling liberty i'ma be claiming victory

I'm everything that they call nice

Top of my pile of bodies

Next to it: stash mattress. under it: cash, bastard

Of being of always getting wired

Of the book of your life

What we gotta do to survive