This is a song about "Old men"

Plenty smoke, plenty rolled

Then those bitches who grew old.

Then i wait for them days to turn good again

I had never fit in with the men.

Rich white and black white-washed men/

Riding around with ms. reece and them

For all the pedicures i've given to their camel toes they bring

Not fucking enough to be contenders. just sad old men at home watching

But i'mma build it ground up, let's again

We the moody, gucci, louis and pucci men

Senior on this freshmen rocking that letter men,

Niggas hate us, but we famous so i never blame them

Colosseum cell bars, 2 men enter no space

My music is like confetti rain when you win a race

And it rules everything around them

I kill the beat like andrew jackson did the red men