This is a song about "Fancy"

I ain't got fancy clothes, cars, mansions, or j's on my feet,

And over beef you laid to rest like you was gettin some sleep

Fancy type of draws drool on a mild pile

To burn my kingdom, you must use fire

Ravishing, rick rude of rappin you bastards

Think they tight, with their fancy clothes and fighting words

Nothin fancy about no bounty baby im frantic

Puts the pieces of decomposing bodies in plastic

In this fucking line at ralph's buying granola bars

And it is to drive in all these fancy cars

But astronomer is just a fancy word for moon starer

Thug life niggas and we be ready for whatever

Sometimes you go stores and buy everything that you see

'cuz it's so deep in my blood, this the only shit that i fancy

And hell. human condition? what a fancy name to label on a prison,

You let it slide, i hit home-runs, clean her dugout till i’m done