This is a song about "Fuck yall"

I got alotta phones

Yall sweeter than ice cream cones

Yall act like yall can't see my my talent, i got skepticism

I’m pitchin bitches thats dreamin’ thinking i'm trickin’ chicken

Yall no nothing about that/ talkin like yall got amnesia

I got that good stroke, come be my mona lisa

Yall better take your seats

No time to plot retreats

So yall people best be leaving

Someway, somehow nigga feeling

Quick flipping up sexy back

Yall niggahs gone get it bad

Steal your love with ease

Yall rapping like rookies

With ocd yall cant touch me

Summertime in the city