This is a song about "Crops"

She looks better than beyonce, alicia keys

It reminds me of the crops from the poplar trees,

I got these bitches brewin' inside of my gold pots

Welcome to hell's plot, the spot rots, like stale crops

Like farmville without the crops

Can't see his son shine like the four tops

Jordan 4 seated floorside sitting with mars

We all commit sin, counterfeit stash and cash crops

Come close, catch a contact, i got a loud pack in my cargo pocket

Minimize the population with verses that crops it to a few bit

Make meets ends picking crops for a penny here and then

I came through with diseased semen on my pen

So i can start this freestyle, got more rhymes than there's crops

See my team has hella cars, i got a couple knots

Ima let her be by herself in peace

The strange fruit, crops growin', blowin' in the breeze,