This is a song about "Iffy azalea"

A smooth operator operating correctly,

To be rich like a king, and live my life, trouble free

Made from the brain of me, most genius

The games up, phony, you ain't smooth to fake us

And boastin cause i know this kid can't prove that his flow is smooth

Rollin' down the street, smokin' indo, sippin' on gin and juice

I'm cruising through this smooth rap

But they ain't for rat tat tat-tat tat

Coughing up octane, slick and smooth tongs stained

Niggas shiver and diemultiple rounds found laced

Extensive tree breathing

Let my angel sing

Plant, grow, harvest from june to may

He’s comin', that's what these hoes say

Yet fame growing slower than a tree.

Cause all i want is you, baby