This is a song about "The stink"

These rappers stink i make em bloodied body but then karma came

The golf wang hooligans, is fucking up the school again

Nigga with too much to say, you might make a fool of yourself

If critics say my rhyme's stink, i'll fry em til there's burnin smells

Sad but its true, but i ain't on ya level yet

Your raps stink like opening paint, it's game set

Now i'm playin' solitaire patient

Walking around like my shit don't stink

We all the same the blacks the whites the something in between

I spitting bars the metronome the money machine

I can eradicate a village if you give me a beat, huh

Put the grants in the safe, 'cause we spending the jacksons, the

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

Metaphor, chilling with better whores

In fact, they stink like the stuff dat oozes on a girl pad.

Wocky, she's a dancer, walkie-talkie ace for back up like fag