This is a song about "Crooked lining"

I've got nothin' to worry about

Toy graffers i'm lining out

Then i'mma throw this money while you do it with no hands

You wanna see my math notebook, you see lining bar plans

It's not a figure of speech when i tell you that i dumped her

Take my umbrella-ella and stab-ab a crooked promoter/

Bitches lining up lines snortin like its a banquet, so high bitches leaving me babies in baskets,

And everybody grieves, but still nobody seesrecollect your thoughts don't get caught up in the mix

But until then, i gotta do what i doand stay a crooked nigga too

It feels good putting money in your mailboxi love paying rent when the rent's due

Shook ones get crooked funds for being wack

Fourth quarter, that sack; fourth ward in all black

The cia introduced the cocaine, it was crooked rough,

And i ain't worried bout a damn thang, with unconditional love