This is a song about "Cuban missile crisis"

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

If that, the rest of you niggas get lapped, i sit back

Four cuban links on my neck, trap out the hood

It's pain in my eyes but these yves saints blind you to look

Fill the clip and drill 'em and then screw 'em, shit's a missile,

You're reaching new heights, and i ain't kiss you just a little

I might just, spread like virus, the lyrics will cause a crisis,

I'm tryna follow money, she tryna fall in love

But i'm just a fucking heat seeking missile sometimes

I be way out in cali, got hoes of all types

From this identity crisis.......

Always knew where the pot was