This is a song about "The dong"

Metaphor, chilling with better whores

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

Sprung from your moms bum, oh and bang it like a tin dong,

Niggas will find a way to tweak it till the art's gone

Door bell sounds like it's dinged it's last dong

Nigga still tired so i'm yawnin, and now i'm gone

"listen to the track bitch!" echoes

The more battles the better the flows

You’re the plastic, i’m the passion and the magic in the air

Baby i ain't liping, i just tend to keep my city there

My records sell, yes sir

Than the birds on the wire

Make sure your fuckin' feelings end up up in a glad bag

The feds introduced the drugs, all the acid, the dope and smack,

Yeahpour out a little liquor for your homies nigga

So call the coroner or the mortician for the the