This is a song about "Spencer jones"

Now son is the only onegrows up in adoption homes

See i live up in a shotgun home, niggas think they're prophet jones,

And you don’t understand my slang my colloquial’s lovely

Obviously detective with it, got em jones in like barnaby

Ya'll don't even know the name of my flip

Jim jones '14, you would think we pick-pocket,

They pull you in and destroy you like manson or prophet jones,

That they probably be in the closet of old folks

Its so crazy jones and az, its so lovely sippin on bubbly

And every night, believe, we gon' leave with somebody

Y'all turn them #crazy #prophets, jim jones, y'all dying today

104, that mlk, know i gotta be landover out the way

She vying for number one, tryna be number one

He's a mixture of mathers, jones, and lamont coleman,

Spendin' hours in the hall, listenin' to instrumentals straight off my headphones//

I fucked my whore than stabbed her in the heart, like im an indian from indiana jones,