This is a song about "1920 american gangsters"

Homie popped up with about twenty bags and

Guest spot on american bandstand

And that's reallife that i was aimed to belove by my family tree

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

Past all these glass jaws and assholes that claim

Gangsters are pussies and thugs are lame

The gangsters are scared of upsetting they industry masters

Grew up poor, still poor but by american standards

Burning american flags, screamin fuck fags,

Touring through the warmest cities with the coldest raps

I live in the american south with the racial divide,

I'm a geophyte, move under the ground til i can see the light

Making his own fucking beats, covers, videos and all that shit

Housing projects, middle class gangsters, aim and spark it,