This is a song about "Checking account"

And me and them rappers we don’t share no common ground

We rap for pink slips, loser deletes their account

Checking in code, while swigging straight rum

So muthafuck the system

Convertibles with turbo jets

Checking the necks of you wrecks/

She got mad i leaned over, i'm nursing her

Hey brother hope you been checking up our mother,

Don’t let it drift away like a feather and i’m home, home, home

Having sex till four o'clock in the mourn but u still checking your phone

Knew he was working for the fed's, same crime, different trials

Of being knocked out, and soon a nurse is checking your pulse,

Here's my account, son, of why i rap so good,

All my homies in this thang wish a nigga would

Leaning off the actavis, passing blunts round and round

But the fucking bank account, any any any amount