This is a song about "Tricky whit it"

Im in it to win it. i did it. i killed it.

Niggas dumb to be braggin bout that stupid shit

She like dudes whit lotto money from flippin lotta birds

Perfection doesn't exist if it doesn't consume her and the truth hurts

Thus contributing to ongoing credit

So go and ride it, roll it up and ignite it

Pockets on heavy d, bitch i'm hot, third degree

Gotta learn from my mistakes, rhymes must become more tricky/

It's all good, finna dog that

Yes we bout it bout it/

She like dudes whit lotto money from

And you down, hold it down for my nigga them

As deep as dawson's creek and shit

Whatever started it

Swag-er. this is a mixtape about... nothing. not on drugs

It gets tricky without tha cash this hour glass not long enough