This is a song about "Yoga mat"

They say, trojans never break but it ain't that

Who thought he got gonorrhea at a laundry mat.

They can't see me, i'm like the team that brought brett back

Who thought he got gonorrhea at a laundry mat.

Flippin' up dough on the mat like gymnastics,

The white boy sees this as a clearance, now its

Kill you, shoot the funeral up and harlem shake at your wake

So raised like i'm doing yoga, kilo of something is what i take.

Do you not re-read your shit before you take it to the mat son.

I keep my friends close, enemies closer, fuck both, i dont trust no one

My coffee, put it on a flat table mat,

I'm paramount, nigga, i am, and you can't be mad

A bunch of fucking wolves and rats having niggers the size of shaq

I would hate for you to be stranded at the laundry mat, i got your back