This is a song about "The roaring 20s"

Obie trice, pour out a lil' liquor nigga

So call the coroner or the mortician for the the

I make my old bitch buy me all the latest shoes

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

How you gonna look in your son's face and turn your back

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

Nigga, rap, you fuckin' suck probably

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

Do the math, get the sum

Bet i get like 8 of them

Or shift keys or it i placement cause

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

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

You just need to know i’m comin’, i’ll kill you niggas this summer

The truth but thats the way

Yeah ain't that what the song say