This is a song about "Mama predicted"

I ain't gotta tell you they know about me, huh

Donned in the finest gowns i see my mama,

Pushing in my mama van

Like as if i didn’t know man

Guess you niggas wasn't listening, homeroom shit

You'll fall off the map like nostradamus predicted it

But everybody is a g with the weed in them

About how she was a bad mama, mama said "fuck 'em then"

Not dc, this whole fuckin' genre

Are almost as old as yo mama

I made her my baby mama

Lucky seven probably poppa

They gotta like a nigga, call me obama

He gave me so much drama i had to call my mama,

We about to set this bitch on fire

Mama stayed hustlin, i salute her