This is a song about "Crops"

Like farmville without the crops

Yeah, tell me about the love of ours

Is it the money or my marriage or media peace

It reminds me of the crops from the poplar trees,

Niggas hate us, but we famous so i never blame them

Make meets ends picking crops for a penny here and then

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

If you see us in the club, we'll be actin' real nice

Hopin' that my niggas see

Got the crops growing beautifully,

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

Put my squad on my back like i'm wearing me a starter jacket

Who fly? i'm a red eye with eye drops

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

If you talk shit, i'll make you cry and tell your big moms

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