This is a song about "The seven gifts of the holy spirit"

I mean i have the proof in my lyrics, next to me the holy spirit

And every nigga suddenly be rappin bout that trap shit

Let me say this shit in slow-mo, homo

Seven fifty six k. and that's the down speed yo

Instant retrieval so the spirit lifts the evil/

So all that other shit you on dead, burial

I probably would wear 'em but my dick don't fit

The minute your spirit pivots and hits the limit

Baby father bullshittin', you two don't even speak

Don't like my birthday gifts so just give me back the receipt

You be chickens like smokey tripping off angel dust

The centrepiece of spirit, hence i speak coherent,

Ironin' you niggas now it's time to starch the shit

Maybe it's hatred i spew, maybe it's food for the spirit

I threw out all the gifts

Before we see it's hard to live