This is a song about "Big plans"

You need to change how you visualize my plans

Yeah, red bottoms, she ain't trying to dance

All the bitches with drake hands who got fake plans,

Matter fact i am farmer john milkin' cattle tracks

But i'm a hustler, in my heart, trapped is the game

Simple plans and simple pain, where's my train to fame

You wanna see my math notebook, you see lining bar plans

Or just another one of my black jesus traps

Who ain't really had big plans but to drive a shiny benz

Yeah, i had this little bad thing something like them tens

Lost a couple friends, cool; nigga made a lot of fans

But that's a way of survival, how they map their peace plans,

Forever i ain't run yet and i never will

Torture plans with weapons you could call medieval

It ain't gon' be no back and forth

Slaughterhouse, big sean, and big smalls,