This is a song about "The 1800s"

Put the grants in the safe, 'cause we spending the jacksons, the

Temperatures drop; see it's cool to shoot a nigga

Sorta like drano...you know how the game goes

In the field of the damned, the only sentries are the crows.

I know i'm not the only bastard in america

So call the coroner or the mortician for the the

From the gutter to the roof

Dark side of town, baby mama blues

As the king upon the throne

Baby im in the zone

I spitting bars the metronome the money machine

We all the same the blacks the whites the something in between

Be the lion of the zoo be the glue of the bottle be the air of the world,

And i can't do it anymore, i'm tired of always not being first

Run a cartel like a real rick ross

The pain, the loss, the grief, the cross.