This is a song about "Truffle butter records"

The world should turn as soon as my records spin

That's because thats these compton streets was built not to win

Stomach rumbles low, never stole the dough and butter

Real nigga no pistol to keep to shoot her

This is for my niggas gettin' high on the regular

Candy niggaz re-see's we see ur peanut butter

And torture me by forcing me to listen to records claiming they

Yeah two times on a sunday what a lil brotha gotta em goin one way

Talking about the god you serve

Making this butter off these bloodsuckers

Will somebody please show me how

My records selling out the stores now

One way or another it's to the gutter unless you stay stacking the butter

If ya do upset metell the cops to come and get merip the crowd like a phone number