This is a song about "Sell a satsuma"

But you must sell a tall tale of a dell and a florist named nel

Tap my partner roscoe like bruh, i'm drunk as hell can't you tell

My records sell, yes sir

Omo niaja get em' higher

Fuck a label on my jacket, screw you like a ratchet

If only he was ghetto mans maybe we would sell a bit

Pray to whoever got on the biggest of crucifix

You need a pair of new kicks even if you need to sell bricks

Open up your contacts then scroll

●i dont fucking sell my soul

If at all, now your a pawn of the bullshit they sell.

All because i heard that he was talkin' to danielle

Hoping you well, i know it's hell

I killed more time, more crack to sell

Sell my soul, price of coal

Women at my pole