This is a song about "Jacob bream"

This shit would leave rosetta stoned

Only seen family a few like gold

After this eighth be high like out of middle school

Best thing is, you were emotionally poor,

Odd future here to steer you to what the fuck's cool

People label me as soft, emotional and poor

That they probably be in the closet of old folks

We got soul but no control, like john rambo rippin' throats

And copy what's hot until that goes cold

Anything that i spit comes out in gold!

Shout out chrissy, rozay and all that

Gold letterman last kings killing shit

My nigga o that's like my bro without the same damn mom

Then we'll rise and fight like warriors 'till sunset like elton john,

I say that the pool is closed

Spiritual, fool's gold