This is a song about "Cars bikes money"

Till we're dumb high, dumb high

Cars are passing by, guy

All my bikes are covered in rust,

I ain't trying to be ignorant

You got your mean little walk with the model pose

They talk about the flash clothes, cars, money, cash hoes,

Without the racist hicks and ghetto thugs jackin' bikes,

My dough in flipmode, what up to busta rhymes

I'm from a cocaine block, with some plain clothes cops

Bubbling above the elevated tracks and cars

I could give a fuck as long as there’s something that’s behind of her

Be peddling on bikes to the border flipping bitches like a quarter

Metaphors in every color, these indelible bars

Spittin' ridiculous shit about mitsubishi plants, makin' cars

Got police chasen meto my niggas from old blocks

And it is to drive in all these fancy cars