This is a song about "Southern africa"

See i tried to spread the d, welcome to my run and gun

Southern comfort food, mashed potatoes, fried chicken,

The poor southern white boy, he's like picasso for sure,

Nigga had the fucking nerve to call me immature

He should be some southern trucker

Regardless to all them, i appease her

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

So you don't got to wonder what i got up on my team

You be chickens like smokey tripping off angel dust

Feds with bugs like the southern heat, power's unplugged

People give a bad fuckin' rap to old-school southern rap,

All up in my jeans and i'm gunna' hit her with that

Kids in africa eating sticks, while ceos eating caviar

We can count the stars on the hood in your father's car