This is a song about "The gaaxy"

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

You chasing hoes, we replacing hoes, bag and pass them hoes

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

So they just keep going, saying nigga in his face

Here's the answer and the antidote:

It's ironic they call me a fresh breath no joke

So call the coroner or the mortician for the the

Sort of remind you, why you don’t court no vagina

Cops rollin' past, rollin' papers in the passenger

Put the lotion on the skin, in the acid, in the gutter,

Meet me in the tele where the lobby at, i'm probably there

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

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

Or shift keys or it i placement cause