This is a song about "Pimps in the crib"

Cabo to jamaica every weekend honey moon and you

Tell the bitch to leave the crib cos that is what i gotta do

In my crib / butlers, women and nah no kids

Weight stand out like pimples and cold-sore lips

He grew up watching pimps, thieves, dealers, and prostitutes,

Plus how he gon’ tell me, he don't make the rules

How 'bout i talk about pimps and hoes when i go write a song,

You brought and chose, guess she moving on, yep, we do it wrong

On murder and the rising crime rates, pimps and prostitutes,

Ain't had shit to loose, pullin' my pistol on them fools

Want a crib / three times the size where i live

The bittersweet of life, of life

We can go to the mall, then be back to the crib

Whoa yo, yo.. no homo, i'm not gay, faggot

I've got a paper plane, it's propelling my buzz

Why the fxck i let you in my crib, im so delirious