This is a song about "Gold grills"

I aim like i hold the gold compass, a gold atlas.

Alias, mussolinimentally unstable, "g" status

Can’t tell your girl so she the center fold

You gotta go all day for that gold

Check my bank account, got racks on racks

Diamond laced gold plated platinum plaques/

Franky lymon the lime light gets old

Turn money into diamonds and gold

I’m at the altar sayin’ my vows, to this benjamin franklin pile

I wanna buy grills so big you can put it on a crocodile smile

Good kids make bad grown ups

It's full of gold medals,

Bitch i'm delivering gold,

All this paper i fold

I remember when i used to bust a mack with my eyes closed

You couldn't ship gold records if the only copy you pressed was solid gold