This is a song about "The quickness"

Here they keep a rachet close

The more battles the better the flows

I'm ripping the limits of quickness when i'm spitting this slick shit

Come close, catch a contact, i got a loud pack in my cargo pocket

Just take control if you can

The game plan, the game plan

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

That's me spitting this fucking garbage toss

You left your nigga on his own

Choked the one on the throne

We in control, the people know i speak the truth

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

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

The odd niggas are beginning to spill these pink hoes

The water from the past is the same water in the present

Like a passenger on 9/11, please go find a reverend