This is a song about "Jacob bream"

Doing time in the pen and your gram's old

Bitch i'm delivering gold,

The rhythm gets into your head.

Dutty wine for access, show me your neck

How you feel in your head

You already know you're dead

That's equivalent, to the poison in a cigarette

Im a head hunter with targets on every head

Diamond laced gold plated platinum plaques/

Yeah, red bottoms, she ain't trying to dance

Gold chains, watches and more,

Or something that you paid for

I remember when i used to bust a mack with my eyes closed

You couldn't ship gold records if the only copy you pressed was solid gold

Musical shots at your head,

Cutting me this worthless check