This is a song about "The three states of matter"

The chosen one in a bunch of matter

Wolf gang be on that wrist split splatter

States the fate of an artist bent on brooklyn banks/

Bitches don't clap with their hands, so i do not talk to my hands

Years for that matter, but no matter the matter

She still don't know i made sarah to strangle her

And i don't take these bitches out, i make pajama dates

I ain't from the states but i get money like bill gates

Principal of the matter is ya aint got what it takes

Wale, more times than not, am not for whom the air waves

No matter of the gray, the clouds, or the stormy weather

An understatement said that k. lamar was under pressure

But the truth of the matter is,

Press, they look at me like i'm a menace

Ever since grandma died, everyone parted ways

Leave the states make peace with myself and erase/