This is a song about "The poor"

Bust that pussy open, turn that sofa to a fuckin pool

There's a clear divide of race and class between the rich and poor,

Flow to my heart, hit the flo' when im dying

The poor little words ya jotting 'n writing.

I represent the desperation of the poor

I'm acting brand new, let me check my schedule

You trying hard to maintain, then go headcause i ain't mad at cha

It's hard to care about the poor with everything they're feeding ya,

Churches searching for the pockets of the poor

My whip is new but i'm playin' old school

The middle class feels guilty for their poor, now it's hurting,

Me i'm like a young simba i can't wait to be the king

And they sore on hatin' reality that i ignore

So we rhyme for the hurting, poor hard working for,

There’s people in the atlanta suburbs who are dirt poor,

I'm forever dope, you can check your schedule