This is a song about "Working out"

Poor, working-class household, now i'm here out cold,

After every show, a dream she hold

Flapjack, ooh he bring

Aye, is this mic working?

Working for an nonpaying business.

Cause i'm sitting here sipping on guinness

I always judge a book by the cover, never the page

Working ya ass out on hanson for minimum wage

Find her passed out in bed and you still your game working like

And i been fucking with cosby since i was ten, you damn right

Deep down, i'm an emo fuckin' faggot that's depressed

Always working hard never gave herself a rest

Right next to the fat lady hitting high notes

I remember shotguns and modest working class homes,

Wear out tracks, let me do my thing, i got 16, for this roscoe thing

I'm trying to clear shit up, and make sure my concerts working,