This is a song about "Stink pudsy"

Nigga with too much to say, you might make a fool of yourself

If critics say my rhyme's stink, i'll fry em til there's burnin smells

Your rhymes stink, like rotten bananas in a trash can,

You say the art's dying, nah brother buy an album, the plan

Somalia women ethiopian queens never could tell the difference

Death deceased never left a badder stink, prepare to rinse with antiseptic stings,

If we talk your lines, well they stink more than a sewer.

They'd tell you i'm some bipolar, hard drug user

Starting to stink bury her,

I made a promise to the mirror

And showing you and yours that breaking rules is fucking cool again

These rappers stink i make em bloodied body but then karma came

Nowadays usually it's his pockets

Your raps stink, just like your shittin' armpits.