This is a song about "Wyatt gold the faker"

Philosopher's stone made into the cylinder turning the rockets to gold,

I see the addict, the alcoholic with golden flask out cold,

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

Bro's got grudges for money its funny they loved me but rushed to the cold

I saved her number just in case but now it’s case closed

It's foretold i withhold the grail to molding gold,

Let me be clear homeys a faker

The ice ain't really nothing to her

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,

To the point that he just breaks, snaps, and it's all it takes

But he keeps it real for the gold and through the chains,

Turn it upside down and open your legs if you're real cold

I’m steady searching for a stack of the green and gold,

Majori'm at the apex, your at the nadir ain't nothing faker, rather be alone than

Arm out the window screaming money ain't a thangcall it automatic bang, bang, bang