This is a song about "Robbin"

Robbin' emcees blind of skill, now he's poppin' shit off,

In your gold pot addin' extra sauce because

Resort to robbin' to feed my family

A happy home, that's my fantasy

Gangsters robbin', shooting back, mama's sobbing pedals,

Beaverton my sneaker game although i never be with ducks

I'm just trying to paint that picture, when i'm rhyming up in this booth

Of course i'm robbin' too, i ain't got the loot to cop some shoes,

It's like i'm an alien who alienates by the herd, so as far as being heard

'case a nigga get haphazard and start thinkin bout robbin a light skin bastard