This is a song about "Three sons empire just came of jail rich"

A-town, nigga, yeah it's trap city

So much nut like i came for three

Make my passion to critics ? backward opinions

No rest for the wicked, or the clean purest of sons

Plus i keep it on lock, like i'm part of the jail

I'll let out a couple sighs, tell them exhale

Everybody seems to misread every sentence

Father was rich enough to pay, child would never have any sons

Look, i'm still talking to you baby

From the discussion of top three

Underhand shit dread of force you bought rich

We told him no dough then we go and get your bitch

And certain death for us ghetto bastardswhat can we do when we're arrested, but open fire

Or a fake like you out of the blue i'm throwing a mackaveli like you off the empire

Becoming a good rapper ain't that easy of a process

Polluting my computer are the sons of such medusas//a mess