This is a song about "Bankrolls and bugattis"

Coldest clothes, bankrolls and hoes, and o's and o's, alone and cold,

Girl your body lookin’ like a fuckin’ pot of gold

And get caught, in the moment

Social conditioning and

And i don't think homes

And nasty remains and bones

Riddles and jokes and scary crows

Here they keep a rachet close

And a fridge and some broccoli

Six-fifty, three hundred my shirt free

Sanyo, and handheld and handgun

Hoes row got beans in them

Blood and cuts, ifs and buts

I call it speaking tongues