This is a song about "Amount"

Can't forget the amount of words, flipping heck it's just absurd

From the ghetto to the 'burbs, know we meant, every word

Account the amount we are paid

If i should die before i wake

Hear these critics talking now, when i see'em open face

I hope to live in a big house with a huge amount of space/

Cause i ain't know for who or what the fuck to get

Mother could care less , i never could amount to shit,

Better hope you can handle the amount of beef in ten cattle

With my muscle you'll be dazzled, but hustlin's a hassle

Hatin’ niggas? chalk em out. go on, get the coffin out

But the fucking bank account, any any any amount

You can bet your bottom dollar the bottom lips will need stitches

Frown and a gun lit is all she could amount to confront with

I'm just trying to paint that picture, when i'm rhyming up in this booth

That you need to set a curfew to the amount of bullshit beefs you fuse.