This is a song about "Your rubbish"

And there's little to be glad for

Your eyes it's my paradise, your

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

And finally, everyone got their own problems

You make a nigga sing songs nice

Fuck your prison, fuck your life

Walked out the church, then got a call that my homie was murdered

Got their rubbish money and managed to get off without being hurt

Fuck, clean up on aisle six

Fuck your cars, fuck your feelings.

The rich bin diminishing tonnage as kids rummage through the chips in the rubbish

Wants to know why his daddy don't love him no mo'you can't complain you was dealt this

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

Floor seats at that wizards game