This is a song about "Children of the ghetto"

You find yourself thinking more about the children

My name's kingpin slim and i'mma son of a gun

Pushin innocent children of buildings isn't normal right?

You hear that shawty, shh no more talking alright

And attacking faster than foes can change the channel, whoa

Or just to stay under a ceilin' in the case of the ghetto

Y'all wonder why folks in the ghetto have a hatred of heat,

We gettin’ chicken but these skinny models wan’ eat

A couple milli in the bag and my face good

I moved you up to hills, out the ills of the ghetto hood

Miami nights, ain't another one

All the innocent little children

And my bitch is the type of bitch that's all about that dough

Sent away in the box, locked at the top of the ghetto,