This is a song about "Space dog"

It's ill-advised giving hours to another broad

Racking paper, i'm tracking money dog/

Goin’ for the grips every day ’til the grave

My bad, i just wanna gaze into space

No match to my flow, dog

Fuck a tape, fuck your broad

Like a dog without paws,

Alcohol and booty calls

They say that i never cease to amaze

Colosseum cell bars, 2 men enter no space

Experimentation with inflation, float away in space and place a space station,

So both of our imaginations are creations of the fucking situation

We're running out of space,

Never can i straight face