This is a song about "Lighters"

Next month i want that plus, money long as your tour bus

I then fucked up, i forgot my lighters, but i have matches,

Then never touch it, like your goatee it's grown for years

I'm the sick mixture, pricks i'll give ya shit to lime lighters,

Who holler back to days untold with cargo-holds of golden lighters.

And ain't it shameful, how niggas blame hoes for givin' birth

It's bic in this bitch all lighters galore,

I'm understanding that bull like a matador