This is a song about "Guns drugs money depression"

Everybody seems to misread every sentence

Fuck rappin' about smokin' drugs, they hurtin' your lungs, tons, of guns.

Eventually leading you to depression

Motherfuck my phone, it never has reception

Guess they ran out of options

But i dont carry guns

I've met depression on numerous days

And i got them gold bottles, first place

What up girl, tell me how you been

From this pain and depression.

Enough oppression, leading to depression

Dirty rotten nigger picked it from a cotton gin

My paper long, yep, you left alone, you gets no fucks

Lotta rapper thugs talking bout bitches, money trees, and drugs

If you're black, you're always a thug, and you have drugs and guns

Everything at ease, you in double m g presence