This is a song about "Tripping over my own swag"

Call me soulja boy, i turn my swag on

It's cole, won't lie, won't stop 'til the race is won

So i hoped out pronto, get my swag on a flow

And all this snow, i call it infant sorrow

And i hope you a believer

I, own guns, got my own arms dealer

Im my own person in my own lane,

Blow trees like a hurricane

Flipping im outta my mind tripping on acid and wine,

On the phone, cooking dope, at the same damn time

I guess i left my dignity up in the cupboard, cause every girl i'm digging

Act as spunky ban-dit/does feared tasks n get flummery my head will be tripping