This is a song about "Sins of our fathers"

But also the rest of our family."

20 racks really thats sneaker money

Hey, don't do anything that i say in this song, okay? it's fuckin' fiction

So both of our imaginations are creations of the situation

Our ways of complaining about haters every single

Every second tell me how you pressed em at the monte crystal

Writing beautiful tales of our adventures

Used to ride little buses, i ain’t fuck with my teachers

Give me billboards, whatever that people will kill for

The vivid storyteller, confessor of sins dweller

And their mothers and fathers

Tryna be some mobsters

We're the hypocrites of our own blasphemy.

Who didn't really care to see, or give a damn if she

Yeah my shit ain't no scratch and win

Of our next generation