This is a song about "Orange bastards"

You psychedelic bastards

It's 14 racks, what i put on that purse

'round the clock, till i make my own clockwork of orange,

Though i'm chasing dreams i don't ever care for sleeping much

I buck bastards who think they're bachelors

We gotta get back to what really matters

Look into your eyes i realize that i like you so much

Like soldiers charging up the hills, and dropping agent orange,

Got some prison guards keeping bastards captive,

And you niggas will acknowledge this

Hundred k in twenty-two hours

Nasty words, bastards, worse

Uh, every time i’m in my city, i be acting like my shit don’t stink

Kinda ironic coming from a florida orange to be honest