This is a song about "Balsa wood models"

So here i am at the store for some chips

A wardrobe so your skin wood be the wood shavings

I moved you up to hills, out the ills of the ghetto hood

Youve got a cock like a piece of rotton wood

Inked up on my hands and arms, got them jams in my pocket

No role models, just whole bottles, and you could never know it,

We gettin’ chicken but these skinny models wan’ eat.

Now it'll cost you 30 racks to get a verse cheap

Cutting me this worthless check

Hide bodies in a wood shed

I stuff you in the trunk, drunk

Wood, gold, platinum, diamond

And you have a job choppin' up wood!

We was loonie i suppose, you could

Hold it down like lean and wood grain

Time after time, again and again