This is a song about "The backcountry"

So call the coroner or the mortician for the the

Throw him off the banister, shoot him on camera

I think found where your mind was

Where the fuck the chorus

The .45 for you niggas with nine lives

Endless the days, forever the nights,

She prayed on me passing that bar

Down the street to the car,

The bigger the the fun

He’s tha only one

Watch this, hey quik let me see them binoculars, nigga

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

Get grand slam fans out of they seats

Thinkin of the the dreams

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