This is a song about "Laps"

Mom's stressed from two dads, putting more crap on her laps

87, brick fare, yeah, i’m talking thirty racks

Leading with the speed by like one or two laps

To all the frauds stop faking, relax

Yeah ballgame, i swear the hoes wasn’t in my plans

Around you ill run laps and swim trough your belly flaps

When big lips is in the attic armed with an addict's arm

Race laps of mad collabs like im runnin the autobahn,

Got your girl on her laps with my cum all on her face smeared

She woke up naked and then cooked both of us breakfast

Life on a fast lane infinity laps

Sorry mr. charlie won't chap dance

We getting money, you can face the facts

Life on a fast lane infinity laps

It's odd that they say that the crack kill blacks

Running shit and i need more laps