This is a song about "Bentley cars and money woes"

Niggas who be rapping how real they are

And i park cars i don't pay for the meter,

So i'mma push it to the end and take quarters on shots

Bubbling above the elevated tracks and cars

Metaphors in every color, these indelible bars

You'll be missing work, and switching lanes, and hitting cars,

We all dream one day we be kings and queens

Neighbours washing cars and reading fucking magazines.

No bullshit, every shy bitch can get a rose

Dreaming about the cars, clothes, bitches, and hoes,

Forearm with my gang name, that's an old carve

And it is to drive in all these fancy cars

Who earn their cash and blow it all up on these shiny cars,

A fuck that we will never give is like our pops

They talk about the foreign cars, bitches, and the finest clothes,

In my room, redefinin' the meanin' of black holes