This is a song about "Money cars supr"

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

Livin the fast life, in fast cars

We don't want you with skinny legs and the big ass ass shots

Memories of stolen cars swervin down abandoned blocks

In this fucking line at ralph's buying granola bars

All they talk about is money, weed, and cars/

I'm so over cryin, waitin and hopin playin the blame game

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

That look in his mama's eyes, he was traumatized by police cars,

Took a shot, tired of runnin from the niggas and the cops

Dreaming about the cars, clothes, bitches, and hoes,

Ever wonder exactly where the sun goes

Yeah, fancy cars, big bodies and fresh kicks

We talkin' b blockers keep us with deep pockets

Enough to drive a man insane, a woman insane

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