This is a song about "Cars and pizza"

That proud feeling we get knowin' that pussy is ours

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

Like the limbs on ya feet, i suppose

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

I keep a level head, gettin high layin low

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

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

They ain’t fuck with me neither, 15 and high on reefer

Your bitch looking messy like she smoking rocks

Bubbling above the elevated tracks and cars

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

Trying to move foward, though it never stops

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

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

You'll be missing work, and switching lanes, and hitting cars,

Got police chasen meto my niggas from old blocks