This is a song about "Throwing stones in a glass house"

I eat you like a afternoon snack, and i pour in the side glass some jack/

Wocky, she's a dancer, walkie-talkie ace for back up like fag

When the truth came out i'm a rapper not a poet "aka" the people's mouth

Pick up my knife and slaughter cops in my own house, pigs everywhere like a slaughterhouse,

Fine women love losers, that treat 'em bad and cheap

You want a big house cz your living in the street

Fuck it, momma's proud of her asthmatic thin fuck

To livin in a house with food my stomach

You feel like kool-aid in a wine glass

I can barely wipe my ass

Y’all niggas don’t worry me at least a bit

Im in her white house like a politic

All these grave stones kept in clean little rows,

And yeah we up in stadium, quarterbacking hoes

Plagiarized swag, may arrive last

You feel like kool-aid in a wine glass