This is a song about "Money weed rapping"

But he don't rule a thing

Just got to keep rapping

Mr. pacquiao, i'm packing

Cause what you're doing ain't rapping

I wake up at the slightest peep, and my sheets are 3 feet deepi guess it's hard for you to see

I think you never heard the intense but it aint sexuall it's hate i aint rapping for the money

And methodists got money, baptists suck, roll the weed,

If you see a bad bitch in the passenger seat

Let me attract your attention that you're ''singing'' not rapping, not rapping

And i have to say that music keeps me here, by far, the main thing

The drug that they brain need

Who substituted for this weed

My father's dead, well i don't know, we'll never fucking meet

All these rappers talk about is sex money and weed

And a nose full of chowder, he's choppin' up all the doubters see

I started selling weed, didn't had a choice, needed to get money