This is a song about "Guns drugs money depression"

Is money, drugs, hoes, violence washed up routine

I get paper like i a mail box, seen

Everybody seems to misread every sentence

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

Competition on the court

Still no drugs, guns, knives or lives lost.

Can we take shots? what's your flavor? flat drinks we call a cups

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

Well baby bot there ain't no question

Enough oppression, leading to depression

European model white bitch is eating donuts

Destroying a set of lives just for ice, money, and drugs

Thought you was a cutie, though your booty mad thin

My rapping moves on ,from the depression

Eventually leading you to depression

The world should turn as soon as my records spin