This is a song about "Your six pack ain t shit"

My gold rollie tell time

Your raps don"t even rhyme!

Have you with professional killas, chasing hits

Big red creature with a six pack of the apocalypse

And i ride for any nigga who believe in the shit

Six months later you were begging me to lick up your carpet.

I don't pack gats and clap shit

Aye jay, 8 grand skins gonna take that

College degree, scores on my s a t, shit, please,

Went away for a little, let my wisdom increase

Then i vomit on your t shirt like it's mom's spaghetti

Lock my heart up, this is jail, throw away the key

Nothing but my dreams matterhoping for better days

Then i grab a six pack and head on back to the grave

Holes all in ya t-shit, call that holy moly

Fuck it its mmg, ima cross of def poetry and potent tree