This is a song about "Money in dat sack"

In fact, they stink like the stuff dat oozes on a girl pad.

How you gonna look in your son's face and turn your back

I'm back and on track, you'll be packed in a sack or a casket

We exclusive, they be talking but they never do shit

I’m tryna be low key

Im in it for the money

Keep yo' head up and try to keep the faith

Countin money all day and we smoke dat bomb haze,

We grew up in poverty, y'all wonder why we talk money,

Different chef, same pot bro, not guianese buddy

No money in pocket

Catch us smokin’ that quik trip

Yes, i'm sure we could all agree

In other words i'm getting money

Pump, fake, jumpshot, ball hit the back

Go gag on a motherfuckin goat's sack