This is a song about "The mafia"

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

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

Hold my pistoland wrap your arms around a nigga

So call the coroner or the mortician for the the

The good comes with the bad, the bad with the ugly

And them blacker girls ain't on the tube usually

By the phone, no call

Where the ball meets the wall

The realist in the game

Then we cut, look how she say my name

A cocaine measurer, part time lover

The replacement of the word "mother"

Make her surrender &reconsider real nigga

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

From the bottom to the top

Cause i break it out a lot