This is a song about "The thing about rhyme"

Sometimes the truth dont rhyme

Until the end of time

Put a little twist in her hips cause i'm watching

Even the note when he talked about his little... thing.

Dead at thirteen cause he yearned to bangsniffed a lot of flowers, but how could i cry

Ugh what the fuck am i talking about im high righ now, and i still rhyme fly,

You know the one thing i notice about critics man?

Hold up now don’t get it twisted if you slang do your thang

Leaning off the actavis, passing blunts round and round

The best days'll be when i got nothing left to rhyme about/

Guess that means you can never be mine

But i need to prodcue the rhyme

Still you don't know one thing about me?

And its simple as that baby