This is a song about "Cars and cash"

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

Fed her acid now the duct tape quacks back at her

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

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

We don't want you with skinny legs and the big ass ass shots

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

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

If its not couture, i will not go to her

Two big faces on my wrist, boy i got a couple those

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

An understatement said that k. lamar was under pressure

I don't care about the nice cars and shoes with the leather,

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

On award tour, on excursions, i'm a virgin of swap meets

Thinkin you're so good cause you got money, cars, and fame,

And i'm the only fucking rapper without a chain