This is a song about "Working to get money for my mum"

But i ain't really working, trying to get this shit right

Like whenever i look up, i'm expecting the light

And nothing else to get money for all their corporations off it,

This my zombie circus, you better get a fuckin' ticket

She drop it low and then she bust moves for the fellow

My money for folarin, but you do not get to throw

I was addicted to the shit, working for an extended clip, i wanted to stick to this script.

Is it a sin to be so young but feel like you got the potential to be the greatest

Every time my mum tried to tell me the truth i was right there defending you

And what remains from a twelve gauge to the brainarguements with my boo is true

If a nigga didn't fake like them

So i can finally say to mum

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

I used to turn to churches for help but it wasn't working,

Your mum dont want to kiss you she might get rabies

But you ain't never pleased, maybe you should leave