This is a song about "Clayton homes"

I do this shit for ghettoes and those 'hoods and kids from broken homes,

If i take an oath that mean i give up all my area code hoes

From ghettoes and broken homes, we're roses grown from concrete,

You know if you was harder than me then you'd be lead

Girl your body lookin’ like a fuckin’ pot of gold

Appalachia and the row homes in the northeast coast,

Make their feets get wet and funky up in they under arms

I'll probably re-visit those old shotgun homes and trailer parks,

I've switched and lived in eleven homes, not by choice, you ain't even know it,

Every time i walk inside the house, she always tend to start shit

Without choice or hope to voice our own noiseless mope of far away homes

I'm cool with all these broads in here but i do not date lucaya hoes

Mixed feelings cause now all the chicks feeling him

To havin' good homes, never is my stomach growlin',