This is a song about "The fart"

I want that title but they got me fighting under card

I make art while your shits rusty soundin worse than a dusty fart

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

Magazines who at times seem to misuse

Wale, real nigga, where the totem, blowin' bomb haze

In the coupe with the tec, it's the home of the brave

Take the exit, the nearest left

Carol city or was it the west

Your the boat without the paddle

She all that i can handle

Let me hear that beat, air

The trigger or the chair

Got all the black bitches mad cause my main bitch vanilla

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