This is a song about "Cash bags"

Becoming someone you don't recognize

The mirror, bags under my eyes,

The more small people at your door like please can i receive

Become a coach designer of body bags and coca leaves

Why i had white bags in my backpack

You gotta adapt though i'm never going back

40 on my face, getting cash

Goddamn your ex-man is a dumb ass

To go from sellin’ bags to bottles right out the store

Was on my grind cause times were harder than a cellar floor

Back-to-back packin' bags back and forth with fifths of jack

Came home shit is real niggas still in the trap

I be smacking up these rapping fucks then wrap em up with plastic bags

It’s a party in my pants and you invited with all that dance

Dirty rotten nigger picked it from a cotton gin

Bags under my 'isaac', grinding to the laws of motion