This is a song about "Your ginger"

I ain't interested in fame

Blood stain, your slain, your brain

I be ballin, they wonder why

Your gonna gratify

My gun your scars, your wrist your calls

Inside my heads telling me evil thoughts

Your on fire.. your on fire

Huh, i can't interpret her

Leave your running to your mamma,

Not dc, this whole fuckin' genre

Unless your disappearing

Hit it til your make up missing

Out in the district they selling water and buying pistols

I'm fittin' shit, your hatin' it, your littleness, your genitals.