This is a song about "Niggas and strippers and hoes and weed and cars and ghetto and sagging and ebonics"

Ebonics and the kids from the ghetto speak a language,

You oughta see this, my modded sneaker is often three much

My hands grabbing everything in sight, and my pants sagging,

Escobar season begins, so let the semis ring

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

Ever wonder exactly where the sun goes

Smoke weed and pop bottles my real niggas be pouring

They wanna see a nigga lose but i’m destined to win

Go and get it motherfucker, if you murder kids

They would spit and clap ya, but speak fake ebonics,

But all i hear is "money, hoes, i'm the shit, cars and chains",

You think that we was learnin' from other rappers' mistakes

I ain't tricking but they see you as a pot of gold

Coldest clothes, bankrolls and hoes, and o's and o's, alone and cold,

You chasing hoes, we replacing hoes, bag and pass them hoes

And a nigga have ‘em beefin’ on who gon' twist up my new growth