This is a song about "Make that money"

And a nose full of chowder, he's choppin' up all the doubters see

People say that i'm a bum, my parents make modest money,

And the life i live is hell see, i never thought i'd see

People say that i'm a bum, my parents make modest money,

They say this media changed, these verses gettin strange

Peep game don't let the money make you change

They got money that they jumpin' on the pole to make

Kill you, shoot the funeral up and harlem shake at your wake

My d & p frizest, they haven't seen the streets yet

Make money of the poor and ill cash the check

Nigga ain't nothing sweet like a kool aid pack

My rhyming could make money but i ain't paid for that,

Put the money in boxes and sell it and still make profit,

So tell me i ain't shit, go and embellish it a bit