This is a song about "U suck at life"

Pish posh i suck at rapping pissed off like rick ross,

I'm from a cocaine block, with some plain clothes cops

They say, trojans never break but it ain't that

U made this fake life of yours but you can't live it

You couldn't ship gold records if the only copy you pressed was solid gold

Imaginary friends at a foster home and leave u with the blues. u prolly don't

It's really not an issue

Now my team comin right back at u

The mirror's screaming at me saying i'm emmi lola's son

And cause u ain't a heathen life will never treason

I guess she thought she'd get away, wouldn't hear the cries

People tellin u i condemn u to a bad life

My life aint what u expect it to be

Fur for fur, baby; baby, you'll go stir crazy

Trying to come at me...homie i wish u would,

Buy a chick a new bag when she taste good