This is a song about "Wyatt gold the faker"

Cause when you hot its like your burnin up everyone elses cold

Wielding a potato at that the end of the rainbow with a pot o' gold

My gold and bitches? the way i hold the biscuit?

And get a hall pass for this class-act shit

Righteously living, i know all my verses be cold

I miss the sixpack i had, now i turn iron into gold

Its the truth in the booth, i spit gold

But for long time i had gone cold

And the red sun sinks at least into the hills of gold,

But i did have miss medusa, she loud and she leave me stoned

He who has the gold, makes the rule,that's the golden rule

I grew up with nothin, it hurt me to see my mother poor

Im like a devil rebel to the cocky jockey, you see me grindin mining all the gold

This verse may not be gold, it probably wont ever be sold, because this world is cold,

Don't follow the trail of gold or you will be controlled

So i could find my rainbow, my pot of gold