This is a song about "Dreams of making it"

So now they making millions off of prisons

But somethin' was always missin' like six digits

Bury your thoughts, take his head fuck him have at him

And start making all kinds of commotion

Making dollar bills out of music

That white whip sit like a slight wrist slit

Making love to a professor of divinity

Spread the word and witness, he rose on the first sunday

But knowing me i prolly never meetonly speak when a fan speak

We think making a bunch of money, is what it means to succeed,

The best journeyacres of land and swimming pools and all that

But i'm making it, chillin' with my niggas dream chasin' it

Is it normal to have lucid dreams

Don't nobody move when we walk tha streets

Since i was a child, i had dreams of

Say a grown man can separate lust from love