This is a song about "Amount"

But the fucking bank account, any any any amount

Cause in the end girl you’re gonna want another round, another round

With an impending mixtape that only seems like a myth

Frown and a gun lit is all she could amount to confront with

I got these bitches brewin' inside of my gold pots

Were funny enough to get a bogus amount of props.

And strangle you with that fucking leather jacket

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

Im still here but i can't skate

Account the amount we are paid

Trickin’ shit for kids and you know i dont need no cereal

Rationing the amount of trust i put into people

But really i'm just caught in the loop, of understanding the truth

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

Rust from the amount that pile up, never to touch and filled with blood.

But she only fuck with boss niggas - lames, you outta luck