This is a song about "You being good at math but sucking at basketball"

That wasn't bullets, that was copies of bastard, you bitch

You fucking do-gooders, too bad you couldn't do good at marriage

I got sorta good at pretending

Get off a key like i can’t sing

I know the road i'm taking

Or be real good at cooking

You fucking dead bitch chips, i'm on my fifth bag with your bitch ass

Bitch i found my path, still in school but im not good with math.

All i wanna know girl what yo name is, i see them other niggas they be on that lame shit

I ain't being dramatic these feelings are automatic you don't know until you go at it

Arrive at the bridge drop you off saying "have a good day"

I got the cookie-cutter, mami the pepper spray

Lights will flash, cars will crash

I like my bitches good at math