This is a song about "Make"

Yeah this new town cannot make

See my hands start to shake

Make the crowd go wild and make em panic

Push you into an old lady bagging plastic

I'm make this choppa spit and make it come out her nose

I'm chasing money, not the liquor, y'all ain't even close

Stored in his mind to make,

They say them colors must be fake

I make elevating music, you make elevator music

Put it on whatever bitch, me and spitta high as shit

Thank god for what i did with blocking against this shaky defense

That could make some sense, to make amends, to take a stand, to make it tense

I can tell you that this tape

There’s money to make

I'm afraid of the destruction i'll make,

Tonight no pitchers, everything's straight