This is a song about "Lloyd banks"

Loud pack, i propel. burgandy, out to kill

Im out here trying to fill up banks like uncle phil

Right next to the fat lady hitting high notes

Wouldn't it be nice if the banks didn't fuck up the loans

States the fate of an artist bent on brooklyn banks/

Bitches don't clap with their hands, so i do not talk to my hands

Banks fail and get billion-dollar bail-outs, it's sad to call it,

And hold on, we go longyou feel that, we get that

Loot banks, rob stores and call yo mamma a whore

That i got sexy ladies so back up some more

For those whey no fit dey fix son

I get more from banks than aunt vivian

Decides everything, the wall street banks, no they're loving it,

I’m gonna pop some tags, only got twenty dollars in my pocket