This is a song about "Cinnamon toast cruch"

Im a treat em like his profile pick n make this pussy toast

To packin' up and leavin' notes, and gettin' ghost

Paparazzi in the trees, please curtains closed

Me and rap are close, like butter on toast

Yeah, uh, where's the love for the sixteen writers

And they spin on my dick cinnamon swirls

Now i'm dope, wonderbread we can toast

Nudies and some j six, where i’m from it’s cold

I watched people i know pray and catch the holy ghost

Spit that flame leave you weak bitches burnt like toast

It's ironic cause i always hear you talking about one

Because her skin taste like caramel on a beignet and cinnamon

But for long time i had gone cold

Now i'm dope, wonderbread we can toast

Hand to hand in the cold

So raise your glass let's have a toast,