This is a song about "Riches and dough"

Thy throw dough in unsportsmanlike manner, drunk and obscure

You know i spit that sick shit and there’s still no cure

Subject matter’s all about the riches and dough,

Fuck around, y'all gonna be up on the maury show

The red album, lil red shortie, you can't touch her

Stomach rumbles low, never stole the dough and butter

U stole my money bread and dough

Ran outside to see the big show

I hear you callin' me to come back, i'm a sucka for love

Giving aids and hiv to baby mamas, stacking riches,

Sick of the spitting on riches and bitches and that shit

Is you a fiend now, nigga? catch a gleamed bullet

Nowadays it’s about bitches and hoes and riches and dough,

Poppa took the television, but left the radio