This is a song about "Lighters"

It's bic in this bitch all lighters galore,

Woodstock though, couple bands on the floor

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

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

See me, i’d rather cut let ya body give birth

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

And if she have it, she gon' change her blackberry status

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