This is a song about "Your moma"

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

And finally, everyone got their own problems

Roll your eyes & talk your shit.

You can feel it via spirit

She likes the way it hits her lips

Fuck your bars, fuck your demons,

Your family, your friends,

Stop it, i'm hearin' the comments

Aimin' at them skin headed bitches let it rain

Where's your wealth? where's your fame?

Lucky seven probably poppa

Leave your running to your mamma,

I'll be your companion ,your friend and your guide

Studio fifty four if we get the props right

All them other boys targets and i'm flawless with the aim

Im coming threw your hood taking your soverigns and your chain