This is a song about "Work harers"

We getttin throwed, still put in work

My shirt, purple label my shirt

We be like chow

If you make it work now

It's a fools fatewithout your word

And their bloods trying make it work.

No rubber sole, hardwood bastard

You'll never be late for work

Master tactician at work, crafting compositions

But somethin' was always missin' like six digits

That bitch was racist, got me fired

Please... twerk twerk, let that ass work,