This is a song about "Bloods crops"

We all commit sin, counterfeit stash and cash crops

She pretty but she insecure as baby-mother scars

The strange fruit, crops growin', blowin' in the breeze,

They dubaleing to me. bawo ni to my ladies

Hammer-hat flyer than a bag of bats

‘cuz they choose colors of bloods and crips in gangs,

Minimize the population with verses that crops it to a few bit

Straight up fuck all y’all nigga's talking about that nigga changed shit

Make a drive by send them fuckin bloods dying

Tryin’ to bag a brother with a super bowl ring

This young bloods got it in him/ the rhythm came through to this generation

So i can write about my life of sina couple bottles of gin

And danced around the house in all-over print panties

It reminds me of the crops from the poplar trees,

Like farmville without the crops

Fuckin' up my gold pots