This is a song about "Fancy shit"

Happen to you , nothing is shit

New soul verses the o.g. it seemed as a hit

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

My ex bitch bitter now cause everything sweet

But astronomer is just a fancy word for moon starer

I'll kiss you just a little, i promise it's forever

The dead society of a poet

Wondering shit, questioning shit

And it is to drive in all these fancy cars

Got police chasen meto my niggas from old blocks

Always keep a rubber, word to telly in kids

Yeah, fancy cars, big bodies and fresh kicks

Now you got me hopped up on that

With alla this whack shit

I know the world been waiting for that

Florida, we runnin' this rap shit