This is a song about "Foster kids"

She likes the way it hits her lips

Clothes are dusted and he loathes these kids

Conjure your fears kill your parents become your foster

Something like serena mixed with trina, have you seen her

But somethin' was always missin' like six digits

The kris kringle of rap servin little kids

Might as well prepare

Escapin foster care.

Kids here think there all grown.....

Stop blowin' up my cell phone

To the kids holding liquor bottles.

But i guess that shit's just tough love

I try and respect kids

Well, i have a gram cupcake mix

Just kids with hella fuel

Lady at the frank stand will