This is a song about "Your mamma"

Blood stain, your slain, your brain

Grown men in this game

My gun your scars, your wrist your calls

Metaphor, chilling with better whores

Let me enter your life, lady we can spill our rice

Now mamma i wish you could see how much i love you through my eyes

A nigga so wack even yo mamma know what the truth is

You can bet your bottom dollar the bottom lips will need stitches

Actions speak louder than words, let me try this shit, dead

Cause i'd probably be dahmer, cause mamma always said

Loot banks, rob stores and call yo mamma a whore

Need i say more out in singapore

Out in the district they selling water and buying pistols

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