This is a song about "Bal 27"

Tell by your handbag that boy don't do you right

Banana clip, with the magazine clipp to the side/

Got my carry-on but really wish i had a pound with me though

Fakes get a blast from me, laugh at me, and get peeled lika mango/

And i caress them sets/

11.1.11 is when it all makes sense

My magazines got subscriptions to the afterlife/

And you ask twitter why you getting fake guys

Dc has never seen such progress

Rappin is sess, laced with rock and yes/

Or i can use tape, who's fate can i decide/

So the homie wale can leave the hook right

Knb/k.barksdale- due to wanting to be friends with me so bad,but has a split personality to diss me

Get into pop even nicki, minaj with her roman follower/ not me i wanna be a prodigy/

27. wake up in the morning and get to recording,

Dirty rotten nigger picked it from a cotton gin