This is a song about "Cats and spaeakers"

I'm paramount, nigga, i am, and you can't be mad

Run with ill cats, and we we kill that, with heat like shaq attack,

Together, we say hi to the sunrise and fight together when the sun sets

But you gotta be meticulous, to get these critics and cats to bob their heads,

Eat well, get fat, young cats stack digits

Good rhythm, bad women and better lyrics

Truthfully ya'll are cool cats, but i'm a hound

And it's breaking me down, watching the world spin round

Snapchats or four flats doesnt bother my cats,

Left hand got ten bands; back pocket, four stacks

That’s what i call a fairy tale

Stop or fail, this cats locked in jail

Mix a little syrup, it ain't no way to cure him

Feedin' off these cats, i see my lats growin'