This is a song about "Amount"

You wondering why she ain't fucking, we winning, nigga you lose

That you need to set a curfew to the amount of bullshit beefs you fuse.

Account the amount we are paid

Our vision never changed, we self made

Mother could care less , i never could amount to shit,

I don't know why the industry wanna keep me a secret

I can't take a big l, my city needs me, i gotta win

The amount of temptation surrounds me in isolation

Lyrics slur from my mouth, fuckas watch closely as it occurs with a limited amount

Then it's back to the corner where we sell cracksome of you niggas is bustas, you running round

Higher than the amount of confessions in a confessional

It’s hard when starving marcus garvey messed with malcolm little

But the fucking bank account, any any any amount

But it never rain in california unless the pistols out

Tryin have a big amount

Back wood, the tree i’m ashing out