This is a song about "The homie"

And i don’t wanna be a playa no more

His homie went to his house and opened the door

Shoutout yo baby momma, that bitch is sorta fine

I shoot you and kill ya homie, with the same damn nine//

You send me beats via email, i'mma send them back in a hearse

My journey absurd, my homie put in a word, saw me at the swerve,

I was like a young simba couldn’t wait to be the king

Im done with the tears homie im no longer crying

My talent should take me places i've never been

To the homie wit no discretion