This is a song about "Union workers"

None of your own will pick up the phone cuz this human is a new fusion god and man perfect union

You know they got me trapped in this prison of seclusionhappiness, living on the streets is a delusion

I live the street life, ya heard? guns, money and birds

Fuck the god damn psychologists and social workers,

Baby told me that she never memorized a verse

Movin' bricks through the site like construction workers,

What the fuck do i say to psychologists and social workers?

No congressional reppers, no respectable rappers

The workers slingin' mud bricks, rhymes are sweeter,

{*both*} but first lemme, lemme, lemme talk to her

While his fiends for cream well exceeded the dream she once lived for

I take home billions and pay my workers eight bucks an hour,

Heating up like may weather, dog i'm on that floyd shit

Its sad when the hard workers get unappreciated

I take home billions and pay my workers eight bucks an hour,

Tell them that your sorry, you're a cow, took a fuckin' shower