This is a song about "1920 american gangsters"

Grew up poor, still poor but by american standards

The gangsters are scared of upsetting they industry masters

Little white gangsters, i'd call that phase ironic,

I'm recordin' that shit on the fuckin' little mic

And american music shows.

Like the limbs on ya feet, i suppose

He took it to pitchfork, he couldn't get a sentence

Rap skills when i cap kills like gangsters with nap pills

We don't trust no one american, conservative or libertarian,

I keep my friends close, enemies closer, fuck both, i dont trust no one

To him, nothing is funnymind set on one thing, making his money

Discerning gangsters see, burning bangers to sling, all of these mics happily,

This is american pie unrated,

In that 09' range while i'm singing old tre shit

Guest spot on american bandstand

600 benz, condo six hundred grand