This is a song about "Tax"

Yeah, red bottoms, she ain't trying to dance

State this here, you're facing a tax

You gotta pay homage in order to get paid

Always stressed about something whether it be the tax rate

When it come to pistols, these niggas don't john lynch them

They don't vote, then i change the tax laws, like "fuck it then",

Creates this so called obama-care, takin' all the tax payer's money

And that's reallife that i was aimed to belove by my family tree

Spit on em and say "fuck that wicked tax"

Harder to quit, the cigarettes and green bags

Let em play with her box, she give the greatest top

And ask to see his tax records, they'll make you bound to walk,

I'mma do the right thing though, take shock anyway

No more forcing prison on the tax payers, the rest pay,

I see a f-cken stargot your momma screamingfor me, like i'm eldebargelookin at my skin

They don't care bout the economy as long as they benefit from the tax collection!