This is a song about "Your trash"

That makes threemy laywers getting cash up the ass

I guess you think you cas, but i think you trash.

Your rhymes stink, like rotten bananas in a trash can,

Odd future, there wolves bang where a couple bears hang

All you gossiping fags are pure, garbage and trash

So while she up in vip pourin' merlot in the glass

Cause these niggas doo-doo trash

Rolling while im blowing this stash

But you can't trash a mess

I don't fear death

But i wear mine on my head, supreme

Is pure trash, ridiculous scene

Working and middle-class people were viewed as gutter trash,

Yaknowhati'msayin? you need to be on first class

Picking food out the trash while your mum is fucking a hobo next to the trash can

Pussy pop on her handstand, you got me sweatin', please pass me a fan, damn