This is a song about "Your grampa"

She gotta hold her head up high

Your gonna gratify

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

Can we take shots? what's your flavor? flat drinks we call a cups

Inside my heads telling me evil thoughts

My gun your scars, your wrist your calls

Your lyres are cheat so hold your pen open your book-let

All my friends, weed & cigarettes so i take a hit

Got racks, ain’t talking tits

Fuck your cars, fuck your feelings.

Roll your eyes & talk your shit.

Yeah see i let my nigga hit that

Now that's what you call a game

Blood stain, your slain, your brain