This is a song about "Sort"

Gotta be a way to sort the operation.

And it's hard to find god when you ain't never seen him

I'm on a thousand islands like mcdonald's cows

Talk down to me like im some sort of mouse,

Okay he’s gone now, roll her eyes when he whispers in her ear

This is sort of the tuth nobody speaks, we don't dare to hear,

I got ways to sort beef like shattering jaws on concrete,

Take cee around town as if everything cheap

The white boy sees this as a clearance, now its

Aboard with swords n' forts but no torch to sort regions

Smoking weed, inhaling illegal chemicals, looking and hoping for some sort of relief,

Doin twenty to life in san quentingettin calls from my nigga mike tyson, ain't nuttin nice

Thought of, cuz it's sort of...an addiction,

My talent should take me places i've never been

20 racks really thats sneaker money

Is this the sort of man you want to be?