This is a song about "Trace parks"

Come take a stab at it faggot, i pre-ordered your casket

A thousand dollars for that acer i couldn't trace it

Kill him off, leave no trace/

Thinking of bliss and the good days

You all basic starting rumors but it aint hard to trace it

I ain't your regular rapper who just be talking shit

If she don't fake, i work that pussy out, like it was outta shape

Among dates i was thinking upon traits to take place but no trace come on fate

Make their feets get wet and funky up in they under arms

I'll probably re-visit those old shotgun homes and trailer parks,

We laced that cia crack well, now they won't trace us,

And first off, i ain't trying to be conscious

Kill them all, left without a trace,

I get that work from my face