This is a song about "My 17th birthday"

Don't like my birthday gifts so just give me back the receipt

Your bitch fuck us up: every nigga that she meet

My wondrous success bombs my regrets

My brother got knocked now they hold him in cells

You ain't even call me on my birthday

Young peyton don't huddle, still run my play

You just working with the scraps you was given

My words are my ignition for my ammunition,

Get around like tupac, i'm not worked up, i'm wound/

My nitty bag, my kitty boost

My ambitious girl, i won't forget you

Both- baby you'll make my, my, my, my dream come true-----------

And thinkin 'bout it, i'm goin and gettin another one

My compulsion/ concerning my transaction in my cabin/

Chasing your dreams instead of chasing a niggas paper

At my homegirls birthday party, little did i know later