This is a song about "The green buds"

Ho, slut, no love, turn beef to cold cuts

Bong rips and my bag of the best buds

Folarin never walk in prada and talk of a price

To get the green into my hands, the money trees i recognize,

Like it's something to see i'm rubbin ya teets, puffin the green

And some of the stuff i tried to do they had never seen

But i wear mine on my head, supreme

Tummy hungry for the dull green

Most of america is not middle class or stacking the green,

I don't want to grow up, i know that shit for a fact, nigga eighteen

My music be like the drugs and there buds be like the needles

Out in the district they selling water and buying pistols

And danced around the house in all-over print panties

Ain't stacking the green, only time there's stashing the cheese,

So here i am at the store for some chips

Mo' green numbers than the matrix