This is a song about "Fancy"

I'm grand theft auto, racketeering, larceny, conspiracy, murder one

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

I live the street life, ya heard? guns, money and birds

Think they tight, with their fancy clothes and fighting words

Yeah, fancy cars, big bodies and fresh kicks

It's moe, all i need is more chips

And a hi-hat made of plastic, nigga's sound is elastic

Nothin fancy about no bounty baby im frantic

I'm the dream catcher but nothing but nightmares i caught, go to sleep

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

And it is to drive in all these fancy cars

Hoes show me love, niggas give me props

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

I don't give damn about grands see my mind's on a grammy

We can talk things over a little a while

Fancy type of draws drool on a mild pile