This is a song about "Birthday cake and clubbing"

I prefer your applause without a handout

Pound cake, me and kid freestyle, peace out,

But it was ma birthday yesterday,

She say all men treat her wrong way

Kill you, shoot the funeral up and harlem shake at your wake

So that's 2 mistakes 1 big headache and 1 sorry mom cake to bake

Must be part of some big plan to keep a brotha in tha state

Im going for the plate , because im trynna get this cake

Kiss me on the cheek as she whispered, "this the last time

Like a rhyme with birthday and first place then they call that sublime

She was a les 'til i went ahead and screwed her straight

And if your patient you'll be the one taking the cake

As i stare at the ceiling fan, as a fan of these wicked streets

The city streets - bars, clubbing and cars rushing at sickly speeds

When there's only two spots and it's your birthday.

Can't be held against you in any kind of way