This is a song about "Weed and cars"

Keep it real and don't sell out for all the paper and the cars,

In this fucking line at ralph's buying granola bars

The money, cars, and clothes, the riches and dough,

Addicted to stardom, a wish to blow

The you should look up in the stars

Whiskey cigars and fast cars?

Thinkin you're so good cause you got money, cars, and fame,

I'm so over cryin, waitin and hopin playin the blame game

The city streets - bars, clubbing and cars rushing at sickly speeds

As i stare at the ceiling fan, as a fan of these wicked streets

Dreaming about the cars, clothes, bitches, and hoes,

Like the limbs on ya feet, i suppose

I like bitches in air maxes without socks

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

Bubbling above the elevated tracks and cars

They get mad when i lay up in the porsche box