This is a song about "Making millions"

Talking ridiculous have mommas getting floral opinions

The hitman's job, slaying villains in the millions, fuck maybe billions,

Millions of faces were in shock

As long as we're cooperating with god

Make too much for medicaid, that's millions of people,

Get a whole lot of you-know and she bald like an eagle

And don't you bring your camera phone

And millions of homeless people back home

Still standin' and in love with my prideheard frivolous beats, we past that

I'm spillin' millions of illnesses and i ain't no hypochondriac

Sly's little shop of horrors, now showing

Fifty millions and we're still growing!

I quit the shit, i might get high with you

There soul to satan to make millions whats it to