This is a song about "The undead"

The realist in the game

And i put that on my name

And now the present got you struggling

The flooding of the nothing

Reminisce the times and the laughter

Yeah, they call me country grammar

That's me spitting this fucking garbage toss

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

The weed into the bong

When you took my hand up so calm

In the field of the damned, the only sentries are the crows.

The flow cold as a shoulder of a gold diggin hoes

From the bottom to the top

I get my cake; i love hip hop