This is a song about "My cars"

My magma hot bars race between the lines like a squad of cop cars

Metaphors in every color, these indelible bars

I ain't got fancy clothes, cars, mansions, or j's on my feet,

The people ain't got shoes for they feet, or food to eat

I like bitches in air maxes without socks

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

My words are dope as fuck like absurd cars broke when they struck

From the homies, cuz shorty wanna be a thug

I be murdering bars

Hoes love me because of my cars

Livin the fast life, in fast cars

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

You'll be missing work, and switching lanes, and hitting cars,

She pretty but she insecure as baby-mother scars

Its way different ma you see em passin' out bars

You'll be missing work, and switching lanes, and hitting cars,