This is a song about "Cuban missile"

The hotels we staying in twelve star

I'll lick off his top, like a cuban cigar

A good head on her shoulders, i need to feel that

But all this hate that piles up feels like a missile attack,

Make your bitches' therapist ask for dental records

Only built 4 cuban linx, paid in full, and liquor swords,

Stealin' phones to call home but the line is off the hook

Four cuban links on my neck, trap out the hood

That flies me to places, with spaceships, that don't need money

Drain a trey walk off the court, mark cuban better pay me

Bombs after bombs creating a missile storm

Luck on my brim supreme keeps me warm

Heating up like may weather, dog i'm on that floyd shit

And when the pistol shots and missile drop flips hit,