This is a song about "Chavs are gross"

That gal want me ride har

Just because of who we are,

Her phone in the bag, she dancing

Kings are clashing and storm storms are slashing

Others are cocksuckers, and the rest are blind/

Dope money still a object, it’s the same damn grind

Skills are astronomical,

As i light one for ill will

Gangsters are pussies and thugs are lame

Then we cut, look how she say my name

Your raps are counterfeit, mine are homemade

Success is what i work for, and when them dudes hate

Blessed to be who they are

Fuck cops, i'm a fucking rock star