This is a song about "Foreign cars"

Bail was a quarter mill, they put me in a box

All they talk about is money, weed, and cars/

I won’t be bragging ’bout my cars

Hoes show me love, niggas give me props

And mine somewhere bout mars

Hoes love me because of my cars

Damn... my levels foreign wheres ya passport

Oh, not again! another critic writing report

When bret hart meet brett farve

Run away from the cars...

Forearm with my gang name, that's an old carve

While in the distance i hear passing cars

Word spreads fast that your knees spread quick

The quran's the core of foreign conflict,

Memories of stolen cars swervin down abandoned blocks

A fuck that we will never give is like our pops