This is a song about "Pine hills"

My flow fresh, yours needs pine sol

Its somethin like manute bol

Pursuin' my happiness, suitable rapper here

A pine box, closed casket and mommy's black dress is real

Steepen hills and silence sounds, we fostered throughout daydreams

Like the nigga on the block waving his glock but won't squeeze

Visions, dreams of passion

Was it pine or could it be pin?

And you'll be in the purpule hills

I only got four minutes

Tell em they mind clippin i give em like 5 minutes

And i got cheeks so apple red they'd make her run for the hills,

And the red sun sinks at last into the hills of gold,

Paparazzi in the trees, please curtains closed

I was hyper because i didn't get attention from my real pops

And guess what there is no running to the hills cause your dead and i'm the cause