This is a song about "Cars money weed slut"

The you should look up in the stars

I feel like i got fifty cars

And a nose full of chowder, he's choppin' up all the doubters see

I started selling weed, didn't had a choice, needed to get money

Metaphors in every color, these indelible bars

Spittin' ridiculous shit about mitsubishi plants, makin' cars

Your bitch looking messy like she smoking rocks

While in the distance i hear passing cars

Ironically it subs like a hero

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

That bitch bad, looking like a bag of money

Pussy, money weed is the current policy

She was the queen of the club

Oh, did i scare you, slut?

Got like a hundred cars

When bret hart meet brett farve