This is a song about "Your trueself"

Damn is your mattress dry

Your gonna gratify

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

Can we take shots? what's your flavor? flat drinks we call a cups

Of your image, your touch, your laugh

I hate rap like kramer hate blacks

Blood stain, your slain, your brain

Searching for fortune and fame

So i guess that's where i hide my things

Fuck your cars, fuck your feelings.

When i get my hands on nines

Sethered your spine, your movement lines

Blood stain, your slain, your brain

Then lost her faith again

I try to tell them i'm one of the

Leave your running to your mamma,