This is a song about "Tea bags"

From all this tea cause in reality

Third ward general, young cash money

Maybe i should pack my bags and go

Hit the club she drop it low

Matter fact i am farmer john milkin' cattle tracks

Hottest on tracks, i'm the shit like what fills colostomy bags

87, brick fare, yeah, i’m talking thirty racks

And blastin' to snatch you fags like hand bags

You told me life would never, ever, ever get this perfect

It aint funny, they got money bags stacked higher than everest

Got some pocket change too, now ya workin' baby

Am dope as fuck am 17 years old mc like ice tea

You make a nigga sing songs nice

The mirror, bags under my eyes,

Make it large sized and my drink a sweet tea

Fur for fur, baby; baby, you'll go stir crazy