This is a song about "Cloud"

I got these bitches brewin' inside of my gold pots

Gun shots cloud our thoughts, young authors evading cops

You could love it or hate it but he was prime time

High in the sky, i think i see cloud nine,

I try and try and try but always fail to get away, from my storm cloud.

Cause in the end girl you’re gonna want another round, another round

And if you not convinced keep on promotin' them

On the cloud the cpu fan's not held on by gum

Before we lift to the cloud,

Can't decide, take em out

I "wrote" this "song" [about my transition to the cloud, back

Money in a bag, stones be yellow as a cat

And dusting off the porcelain and open when their cock is out

I gotta get away, but there's no where to hide from my storm cloud.

Floating on a cloud i hope i never fall

Drawers by bad broads whenever the curtains call