This is a song about "Money cars girls"

Ya'll had your run, don't ruin ours

Whiskey cigars and fast cars?

And i'm still hurtin over pops

While in the distance i hear passing cars

I tell them killers they ain't figure what they fightin' for

Fame, money, and girls is what some people desire.

Like i'm only serving 20 rocks

I feel like i got fifty cars

Metaphors in every color, these indelible bars

Spittin' ridiculous shit about mitsubishi plants, makin' cars

More props. r.i.p., my poor pops

Got like a hundred cars

Fuck your cars, fuck your feelings.

They gettin chips, they flippin bricks

I am not tina, buddy, do not give my window pain

Thinkin you're so good cause you got money, cars, and fame,