This is a song about "Spitters are quitters"

I'd rather not live like there isn't a god

We brain freezers,but are rhymes are hot.

Skills are astronomical,

I don't need no single

My bitches are wet my bitches are hot

She's a white vegetarian, i'll get this blonde cock

Spend the night with me, we'll talk and

Why are you crying, are you frightened.

Your raps are counterfeit, mine are homemade

You're in the kitchen trying to fix us a hot plate

Skies are black, clouds are red

God bless the dead

And i ain't worried bout a damn thang, with unconditional love

And you don't have the clearance to visit where spitters spit vicious

Make the front popand hit the three wheel motion

Thoughts are provoking, these thoughts are a commotion