This is a song about "The migra"

Your a shell of a mani lost respect for you nigga

So call the coroner or the mortician for the the

Got all the black bitches mad cause my main bitch vanilla

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

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

Magazines who at times seem to misuse

Thinkin of the the dreams

So if you wanna leave

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

Hold up, i used to run powers and draws

Them niggas newbie bang

Still the man with the pan

High as shit, i’m in a booth

Saw the bombs on the news