This is a song about "Strange digging"

The segregated south, with the strange fruit growin',

Charlie sheen on them haters, they dont wanna let me win

Give me a blue benz, red porsche, red range

To a people i don’t know, a strange.

Hot, hot, hot! strange, old ain't hot.

We popping bottles, it don't stop

And i pray that never change

Fuck, she already lookin strange,

Hopped on the pulpit and told them how i was truly blessed

The trailer park-dwelling, ditch-digging, late to pay the rent,

The nerve i never hated

Sorry i rap with a strange kid

Strange fruition, must i remind y'all,

These joints here not found at the mall

I'm on a strange mission

Lies, tangled with fiction