This is a song about "The pattern"

Back of his head they roll, pattern like that of a dice

Why i'm living keep a pistol just to keep you alive

The feds introduced the drugs, all the acid, the dope and smack,

Let's get my enemies not knowing i'm coming back

Cops rollin' past, rollin' papers in the passenger

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

So these bars not mine, nigga it's yours

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

Yeahehehehe nigga, we be the ballin player-ass nigga

So call the coroner or the mortician for the the

And erase my number out the phones of these fake hoes

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

I will dismember you in no pattern cause i'm free styling

And fuck the fat lady, it's over when all the kids sing