This is a song about "Wee cars"

I ain't fucking with kfc but i may eat up the box

You'll be missing work, and switching lanes, and hitting cars,

They get mad when i lay up in the porsche box

Run through the forest, run away from the cars,

She pretty but she insecure as baby-mother scars

That look in his mama's eyes, he was traumatized by police cars,

A fuck that we will never give is like our pops

Memories of stolen cars swervin down abandoned blocks

I won’t be bragging ’bout my cars

Jordan 4 seated floorside sitting with mars

Dreams of giant mansions, diamonds chains, 8 or 9 cars,

That proud feeling we get knowin' that pussy is ours

In this fucking line at ralph's buying granola bars

All they talk about is money, weed, and cars/

So i guess that's where i hide my things

Fuck your cars, fuck your feelings.