This is a song about "Canned peaches"

Wicked roots up under me, it was mean, no peaches, cream,

Your developmental league don’t see a team

Or all them hot summers i was cooped up in the kitchen

I useta eat top ramen with canned pork to back son

This excrement means excellent rap, i make a lesser adapt

Like loving your job and what you do there and one day just getting canned.

Pictures of hot babes on the shelves, discretely canned his mother's crap

Told my niggas, aye i'm finna put the ville on the map

My flow ceaseless dough needless but still save it like its peaches/

I've got a paper plane, it's propelling my buzz

Your worthless man, just like fuckin canned food.

Words sharp like a jerry rice curl route

Pound you and crush you like some cheap canned food.

All my niggas get together to gather loot

We're freaky leeches, no sweet peaches or cream,

To win today would just seem like a lavish dream