This is a song about "Amount"

Aim, shoot, the gun of love, round

Tryin have a big amount

Better hope you can handle the amount of beef in ten cattle

Cause every girl i deal and fuck, it's always against her will

Backing up, like juvenile biggest fan was a moving truck

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

My eyes only see deez, that's why i'm young and burnt out

But the fucking bank account, any any any 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.

I feel good, i look great

Account the amount we are paid

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

With an impending mixtape that only seems like a myth

Drugs are a blessingto someone with no breakfast, damnit’s so hard being exited, out

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