This is a song about "Indigo souls"

Plastic hearts turn to plastic souls.

Like a line full of hoes

Heavy weed smoker, get ounces for free

Man in the race for souls for money

Tired of making money, i'm on to making history

Eating souls from fatalities granting me immortality,

That they've sold their souls* to satan

I pop one, you pop one

Millie on my neck, thumbin through that check

Laying live souls on your damn death bed,

And yeah we up in stadium, quarterbacking hoes

It's the rise of the reaper, collecting lost souls,

Standing on a plateau smoking indigo

Psycho, maestro, orchestrate the life with the right flow