This is a song about "Girls cars and bars"

You is not hip then i can not coach her

And i park cars i don't pay for the meter,

Now my watch fruity colors like trix in a box

You'll be missing work, and switching lanes, and hitting cars,

Neighbours washing cars and reading fucking magazines.

Story of cudi, nigga getting out my dreams

Dreaming about the cars, clothes, bitches, and hoes,

And them hating ass niggas, we ain’t like those

Half my peers, they're stretched for years

Pretty girls/ practically swirls and curls

I sit and type bars like everyday i got two girls and they all bad

Wocky, she's a dancer, walkie-talkie ace for back up like fag

How i'm brought up, then you probably feel the same

Thinkin you're so good cause you got money, cars, and fame,

And all this snow, i call it infant sorrow

The money, cars, and clothes, the riches and dough,