This is a song about "Talk to the hand"

You didn't even talk to me on the phone

I'm definitely in a class of my own

I'll be the last to hear you talk,

I love the way you walk

Why is it when i talk i'm so biased to the hoes

They disregard me, i guess they all got egos

Talk or move but you all take bullet to the

Obie trice, pour out a lil' liquor nigga

Wifey like it one minute next minute she don't, man

And so the soldiers, gats in hand, send drones to pakistan,

We must, be the flyest of southerner men

I don't even talk to them on the phone again

Help me pay my little rent, maybe sit in a benz

The l in his hand to yell in advance

That passed on, they in heaven, found peace at last

When they give the grammy in my hand.