This is a song about "Bananas and cats"

87, brick fare, yeah, i’m talking thirty racks

Snapchats or four flats doesnt bother my cats,

Your rhymes stink, like rotten bananas in a trash can,

I'm a real producer and you just a piano man

So i threw it in a rap so i'd remember that

Run with ill cats, and we we kill that, with heat like shaq attack,

And dj's play my records cause i make the needles dance

Not only high, but i season you cats

To get crushed like nuts and go bananas

We can't afford the property taxes

You wake up and apparently ya pissed a couple cats off,

Jacking off to buffering vids of asher roth eating apple sauce

Stop or fail, this cats locked in jail

Cause i'm out on motherfuckin bail

Cause i run up in them and i make their cats meow

The money ain't running, it's standing still now