This is a song about "8 grandkids"

(8 second instrumental break)

They say them colors must be fake

Nah, niggas they dont wanna let me win

Marijuana my profession

Double mg shit, i put the set down

Chicanos, mexicanos, brown,

That white whip sit like a slight wrist slit

Motherfucker your adopted!

Breakable, im responsible,

Got to the end of the tunnel

Realistically they really

Six-fifty, three hundred my shirt free

In my drawsring, ring, ring

Strangely deteriorating

Generating celebrations.

The jiggas and the tips