This is a song about "Road trips"

Santana, zeke the kufi poppa

Fat bars ziggys trips and vodka....

Your bitch, she ain't laughing, but my bitch thinks it's a joke

But i got words of wisdom, paving this yellow brick road

I got a question for ya, little somethin to say

But i’m not making trips lab to lab every single day,

Distance and friction, never mentioned when it meant your blessed trips son

You let it slide, i hit home-runs, clean her dugout till i’m done

This be the realest shit i ever wrote

And it's cold, tryin' to travel this road

So its time for us to hit road

I put it down your throat

Wocky, she's a dancer, walkie-talkie ace for back up like fag

Paid for trips to italy for me, her, my bro and dad.