This is a song about "Wit cha"

Gold plate wit dat rine stone

Little latasha sho' grown

Vaccines can't protect cha from the rap dean's infectious tech burst

But it's my life or your life, and i'mma bomb first

The dead society of a poet

Uoeno i was wit it

Whose res-u-me, as you may have heard, 's to trap cha with laughter,

Cause either you gonna whine or you climb; i chose the latter

Cause i ain't mad at cha

The science and the art, africa

Deranged just like a satanist, the ways that it betrays my wit

Chickens and waffles instead, and right back to this balling shit

My squad is who i get it wit

After that moscato hit

And a 'please to meet cha' when they reach in, the deep ends of your knee pants

When timbo is in the party, everybody put up they hands