This is a song about "Whit your dather"

Of your image, your touch, your laugh

See, most sites will give me three and a half

And the whit i split's got people applauding,

The pigs fly away in the morning

Can we take shots? what's your flavor? flat drinks we call a cups

I'm fittin' shit, your hatin' it, your littleness, your genitals.

Make your bitches' therapist ask for dental records

She like dudes whit lotto money from flippin lotta birds

Just plain pat visions with some sick aim

Where's your wealth? where's your fame?

Floor seats at that wizards game

Blood stain, your slain, your brain

Blood stain, your slain, your brain

I live my life in tha fast lane

Fuck your cars, fuck your feelings.

Bring the battering ram where you live