This is a song about "Truffle butter records"

When i write rhymes i go blind and let the lord do his thing

We had ya pussies flinching before the records started sending.

Check my records, i killed every single fucking objector!

It's not a figure of speech when i tell you that i dumped her

This murder on every track, this verse is an epitaph

You act like you sell records kid, you're makin me laugh

Valerie’s legs would spread as often as butter

This man can single handedly save the culture

And three hours in the showers with the corpse

Bring back record sales, i sail while i break records

Sabotage, i love how you keep coming back for more

Punchline rapper what you think i make these records for?

When it comes to spitting that fire

My records sell, yes sir