This is a song about "The eart"

And the thirst, just the worst, it's the curse of the juice!

Bail hard but balling 50 on them pretty shoes

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

Bitch i'm ballin' like i'm comin' off of free throws

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

Somebody tell satan that i want my fuckin' swag back

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

And eat about four bowls of some frozen ice cream

Ride presidential got me feeling like obama

So call the coroner or the mortician for the the

Here's the answer and the antidote:

Motherfucker i ain't never broke

We missed you on the charts last week, damn, that's right you wasn't there

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