This is a song about "Wooden clogs"

You killed the nigga, i stole a bible, is that a sin

Rotting in a graveyard garden, six feet deep in your wooden coffin

Don’t let it drift away like a feather and i’m home, home, home

But a pole position you couldn't hold, not even your own wooden bone

Tell me where my soldiers at? put yo' pistols in the air

I can finally rest in piece and sit in my wooden chair.

My realm is shillack, my wooden floor's got a crack

I’m that nigga in fact, paper tall as shaq