This is a song about "Cars and life"

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

Took a shot, tired of runnin from the niggas and the cops

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

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

Like i'm only serving 20 rocks

Whiskey cigars and fast cars?

Wayne told me that and that's just how it goes

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

All they talk about is money, weed, and cars/

A fuck that we will never give is like our pops

And all this snow, i call it infant sorrow

The money, cars, and clothes, the riches and dough,

Bubbling above the elevated tracks and cars

Now my watch fruity colors like trix in a box

Po-po wanna pick his brain, ho's wanna give him brain

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