This is a song about "Farting through a door into a bag of pillow shaped cell phones that were calling barack obama"

Inspired by that ganja most 9-to-5ers just can't afford

Smash into your four-by-four door ford in a honda accord,

Loc’s on, chucks low, black beanie dogpatron top wash straight from the liquor store

And dream bout you get into your heart core , with a thorn open a door

Convenience stores being shot up just for a bag of chips

Everybody seems to misread every sentence

Got into trouble through himself into a pile of ruble then wrote a letter while

And certain death for us ghetto bastardswhat can we do when we're arrested, but open fire

But whatever it is baby hope you pledge to your dreams, forever my queen

We've condemned them, locked. in a cell of consumerism,the american dream.

Different chef, same pot bro, not guianese buddy

Cuz im stackin the money i got a bag of that sunny

And gave you a bag of lays i hope they taste great

We both teenagers with the same mind state