This is a song about "The shruggle"

If i don’t make it, then somebody tell my son screen

We all the same the blacks the whites the something in between

So, why don't you fucking wipe that stupid look on your face

In the coupe with the tec, it's the home of the brave

The pain, the loss, the grief, the cross.

Run a cartel like a real rick ross

You’re the plastic, i’m the passion and the magic in the air

Blowin' fuck it i don't care, dreads is flyin' everywhere

Niggas couldn't fill my shoes

Saw the bombs on the news

Both: this the perfect plan

Still the man with the pan

Here's the answer and the antidote:

To soho, baby milo so dope