This is a song about "Cars and geting laid"

I cop weed for less of a percentage than i fucking plot seeds

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

And that was when i was in the eighth grade

And now i don't even try to get laid

And a nigga have ‘em beefin’ on who gon' twist up my new growth

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

Got police chasen meto my niggas from old blocks

Keep it real and don't sell out for all the paper and the cars,

This is what the devil plays before he goes to sleep

And i laid some rhymes for you on this funky gangsta beat

Ever wonder exactly where the sun goes

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

I am marvin with mind, but i listen to wayne

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

Baby when i like that, i know it's crazy

Drink your ice tea and enjoy geting beaten by me