This is a song about "Wyatt gold the faker"

Righteously living, i know all my verses be cold

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

Shit stress free i ain't even gon' hassle her

Let me be clear homeys a faker

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

Nudies and some j six, where i’m from it’s cold

Yall niggas phony, faker than the "meat" in bologna

You just servin yourself, go pull up to pump three

Gold shinin check the time, it's my shine,

25 with an ltime to prepare to do fed time

I don't need a bunch of jewels to show you i'm cool

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

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

I ain't tricking but they see you as a pot of gold

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