This is a song about "Tracks still bombing"

Spend the night with me, we'll talk and

Through tracks, tombs, gas moons encircled

Kush, baby mama-less; yeah no seeds

Tracks hyping bitches and freaks

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

They were partying i was cutting tracks

Good love then i can do that for her

Bombing on her like a fucking rare mortar!

Never meant to make your daughter to cry

Producing tracks from the mental till i die

And dj's play my records cause i make the needles dance

I rap fast avoid the haters and look good on my tracks

I'm killin it! my hand's the detonator to rhyme bombing.

Write it in my leisure, i rather go shopping

Winner of the tracks, ricky bobby

America's most wanted like chi ali