This is a song about "The thing about rhyme"

I skip to places, smiling faces, while you fucking walk

The funny thing about, that fresh ass platinum, chain you bought

Put my plight in the verse, i bring ‘em closer to mine

I'm just doing my thing, trying to think of the perfect rhyme/

Homies died in my arms, with his brains hangin', fucked up!i had to tell him it was alright, and that's a lie

In a blink of an eye with my pen ink and a rhyme you'll be on the brink of death..about to die

Ben baller, six bottles, talk with such expensive slang

You know the one thing i notice about critics man?

While half my mental belongs in a cage

Spit rhyme after rhyme, i'm flying off the page

Ball out, ball hard, you can't cause it's rent time

To understand the words in my rhyme

But i need to prodcue the rhyme

Would look at us all the time