This is a song about "Robert taylor homes"

All my niggas get together to gather loot

Police be barging into homes but that's rude

Knock knock, who there? houdini dissappeargot green, john deere. more green, paul pierce

My brain, oh so trippy satans game. fuckin taylor swift an everythings

And i got a foot fetish, so i probably have sex with your toes

Without choice or hope to voice our own noiseless mope of far away homes

I'll put you in your place, and i don't even sell homes

For all the killas and the 100 dollar hoes

My momma taught me never steal and never tell on folks

I do this shit for ghettoes and those 'hoods and kids from broken homes,

Inspired by that ganja most 9-to-5ers just can't afford

Our relationship was like a bad poem, robert frost

Chrome lips on the forgi's damn near swallowing the street

From ghettoes and broken homes, we're roses grown from concrete,

Folarin, the muse of the hater

I guess i'd even settle for just taylor