This is a song about "The girls of our dreams"

But somethin' was always missin' like six digits

Tomorrow never cried, the days of our lives

We're the hypocrites of our own blasphemy.

Bitches tend to love a nigga with the most money

So then our dreams vanished, i was indeed panicked

And older women put a nigga on their bucket list

I enjoy living in the fiction of my dreams

This is not somethin that i wrote for tha queens

All the the errors of our ways,

It'll last for all these crazy days

I have a pocket full of dreams, but not the jeans yet

Kinda pop tart, when i bite into them red

Killing our dreams, stealing our vision

Im controlling the air, like a gentry decision