This is a song about "Lighters"

And there's little to be glad for

It's bic in this bitch all lighters galore,

I've got a paper plane, it's propelling my buzz

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

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

I live the street life, ya heard? guns, money and birds

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

You send me beats via email, i'mma send them back in a hearse