This is a song about "Your min"

And you ain't gotta go to war

Your eyes it's my paradise, your

Lucky seven probably poppa

Leave your running to your mamma,

Fuck your criteria

Who knows what the

Just to make it in this broadway lights

Sethered your spine, your movement lines

Fuck your prison, fuck your life

I'm the author for gangsters, tough guys

Separating your body from your face then eating your name,

He said he needed a come up, because selling nicks' was lame

Swag-er. this is a mixtape about... nothing. not on drugs

Shove your head up your butt til ya see your own guts