This is a song about "Wyatt gold the faker"

Franky lymon the lime light gets old

Its the truth in the booth, i spit gold

Let it be told, the story how you chilled in mansions with gold

Righteously living, i know all my verses be cold

That i will leave earth with her

I cut class, said i was a faker

The devil took my soul , the minute the smoke began to unfold.

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

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

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

So behold these are the bitter truths of life that will forever remain untold

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

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

Can’t tell your girl so she the center fold

Fame made me self-absorbed mesmerized by the gold i wore

You can try to walk inside my brain but i close the door