This is a song about "Too much talking"

Dammit i have too much skill

Outkast landed, 3 thou was ill

My brother got knocked now they hold him in cells

To much killing around too much suspense.

They ain't authentic, tell them i don’t even relate

It's too much work to put up with so much fake,

Ended up drinkin too much bacardi

And i don’t know why you sucker niggas can’t see

Too much money to care

Day and night are my 'posites rare

Bun b, i’m underground king

Too much sex appealing.

A good head on her shoulders, i need to feel that

Too much greatness, you couldn't even grasp it