This is a song about "10 bands"

Gimme a hundred grand, don't need the rubber bands,

We getting money, you can face the facts

Yeah come holla at your uncle

Clarity barley comprehensible/

Yeah my shit ain't no scratch and win

Repetition until recognition

He in bootcamp, you on food stamps

Out here fucking bitches popping bands

Want you all to listen so i rap it in election form

Fainthearted bands of lesser rappers drowned in the ensuing storm

Reaper why did you take away all of the good bands?

Then i'mma throw this money while you do it with no hands

It's my fact y'all are fiction with diction

Track 10.) strange fruition (strange fruition)