This is a song about "Cash bags"

The mirror, bags under my eyes,

Because i see right through your disguise

Yeah you laughing my nigga but everything ain't what it seems

Become a coach designer of body bags and coca leaves

I'll get u tagged like bags at boutiques//

Everything ain't what it seems

One, two, three little fags, they fuck with my homies so i grab out the body bags,

Satan falls back..demons get smacked...evil backtracks sinners get stopped in their tracks/

Get ya' cake right, every chicken wanna slice

Leave you in body bags before ems arrive,

Fuck fame, i love my fans just a little more

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

Got a scholarship, my bags were packed

Fucking hoes, no strings attached

Rob tutors, book bags and yet still they call

Hands up, throw me up against the wall