This is a song about "They aint bout it"

In some fucking yellow skinnies looking like a fucking faggot

Haters hate cause they aint made it, i just laugh an celebrate off it

But fuck that, i aint bout to miss my fucking chance

Dope sneakers and dope speakers for fly cats

They say rap aint poetry

Third ward general, young cash money

On my big dick an' they aint fittin'

Got a sweet sixteen and they deadlier than sin

I just want somebody i can see

What you talkin' 'bout if it ain't 'bout the money?

But now i got a problem with that little white rock

Now they ridin my jock. knock even though it aint locked

I gonna take it really nice and slow

It gets bigger though. they only bout the dough.

Secrets r hidden within the clouds

Niggas bout to get rocked in they mouth.