This is a song about "Fruits and colors"

He probly clockin' double shifts on all of his jobs

Now my watch fruity colors like trix in a box

You're the tree that's been cut, no leaves or fruits in the hut

Backing up, like juvenile biggest fan was a moving truck

Outnumbered by cowards in colors/ rumbling/

Either dumb or smokin' dippers or something

Bleedin through colors til my mind can't function

Dirty rotten nigger picked it from a cotton gin

Somebody tell satan that i want my fuckin' swag back

While she colors her big brother and mother and dad

But true colors show when the lies have been told

You heard my hip-hop when i was 16 years old

Or the shutters till your head pops reddish colors.

Multiple colors, my mind's more productive than others

Enemies are my colors, the floor the palette/

Holla at ya boy young roy’s in the kill shit