This is a song about "Pin numbers"

People wonder at the numbers of hordes

Mr. red carpet, i don't do awards

Breaking into your house with nothing more than a bobby pin.

Vicious transmission for my vicious ambition

Our debt is crazy because our money is just printed numbers

The flow hot nasty like a couple siracha flavored used rubbers/

Type of chick that only dress in something that’s designer

I'm the kerosene to the fire a fucking pin to the tire

Finding more light to shed

The numbers burst my head

Then they slee-pin below not six but seven

You ain't gettin' dough, don't even come around them

Numbing, poke you with a pin... nope nothing.

Harder than granite, hoes know i'm coming

Weight stand out like pimples and cold-sore lips

Mo' green numbers than the matrix