This is a song about "You consider yourself a rapper"

You call yourself an emcee, i call you a poet,

Then i'm bustin' like an uzi when i'm through with that shit

You have basically locked yourself in a crate

I'm laughing; you couldn't wait to escape

Is my life,you consider it my call

Under ya nose a rose grew with no sun at all

I remember tripping, walking through the set like my glock don’t think

And see yourself as a kid again, and you get embarrassed

You gonna find yourself in a burial mound,

Then you put fertilizer, lyin, spread the shit around

Now on the surface you seem like a pretty good rapper,

I was alerting her just to reinsert in her

Go to school today, tomorrow, the day after

You ain't a rapper, freestyler, or gangster

But right there, they still scheming, they not eating

Guess what you loose, now please go hang yourself with a string.