This is a song about "Ad weinman"

Guess i'll just write about it, ad lib

Bitches love me out houston like spinach dip

Shorty throw it back and a nigga might love that

Badly company wants her for ad she's too fat

Two hundred and score years and a year a.d

Dead faces keep my money in a body bag

Not a huge fan of attacking ad nauseam

Got a pocket full of cream, my moccasin's clean

No more fucking cigarettes lit, no more stupid ass presentations and useless magazine ad bits

And everybody grieves, but still nobody seesrecollect your thoughts don't get caught up in the mix

Im ad lib bin while the sticking to script like magnets

We all here, from the dealers to the kids

I kill me just like you from the back you'll see

Bouncin around so much shit look like i got ad-hd,

And leave an ad on that shit

Bet i'm heavy with that