This is a song about "Sweaty butch racks"

My visions that i record, the instruments i adore

Surrounded by the thirst driven sweaty messes blocking the door

It leaves your heart with contusions and racks your brain with delusions

That we’ve been confined to, so the corporate won’t make decisions

Must be something you want me to see

Brows grow sweaty but every petty

'cuz i remember poppin' off them chains from bicycle racks,

Matter fact i am farmer john milkin' cattle tracks

I’m callin’ on you ’cause i can’t do it myself

Got so much racks on racks i be stacking up on tha shelf

We rose up to bigger fame, glows from the tennis chain

Having racks of paper, but i ain't gone complain

Switch swag on you little dick fags

God damn pull out my racks

Than diggin' in your couch, looking for your car keys

My palms sweaty, the mic's slippin thru cemeteries