This is a song about "Cuban missile crisis and fat hoones"

I'm everybody top ten, you ain't even top tier

Fat bowels of tree deep, and its too loud to hear

Fat bars ziggys trips and vodka....

Lucky seven probably poppa

That fat ass looks juicy and round

Even if i miss she gon' rebound

I smoke a fat pound of grass and fall on my ass

But anyway, give me cash fag, cause i'm low on gas

In a rise from my crisis

Let me teach you all the sounds of love

And sanctified, niggas got they pockets fat, overweight,

Hey lil momma, what's your name, i'm wale but they call me great

I just wanna be higher than that

Roll it up and ensure that everything's fat