This is a song about "Your"

I'm fittin' shit, your hatin' it, your littleness, your genitals.

Out in the district they selling water and buying pistols

Your on fire.. your on fire

J. cole's her ghost writer

That got your mother high

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

Inside my heads telling me evil thoughts

My gun your scars, your wrist your calls

Oh you a muslim now, no more dope game

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

Your family, your friends,

Stop it, i'm hearin' the comments

Your lyres are cheat so hold your pen open your book-let

I'm the first one to do that i bet you never knew that