This is a song about "Banks"

Right next to the fat lady hitting high notes

Would be pleasant if the banks didn't fuck my loans

It's hard to live out atlanta with out makin' this a habit

Decides everything, the wall street banks, no they're loving it,

Loot banks, rob stores and call yo mamma a whore

Billy-club chainsaw, i’m coming through their front door

But it made me the man i am today, thanks

The river of death has brimmed his banks

And on the banks of this river

My records sell, yes sir

You heard banks was crackin skulls

I don’t be stressed like relaxed muscles

Bitches don't clap with their hands, so i do not talk to my hands

States the fate of an artist bent on brooklyn banks/