This is a song about "Amount"

Rationing the amount of trust i put into people

Inside of me, but the thoughts it tells me are still evil

A fuck that we will never give is like our pops

Were funny enough to get a bogus amount of props.

All you want is a good amount of dough, and to shoot a bitch/

Or fuck my enemies bitch, acting bad and getting rich

Pitchfork doesn't need a plate

Account the amount we are paid

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

To understand your ways, inexperienced back in the days

Then it's back to the corner where we sell cracksome of you niggas is bustas, you running round

Lyrics slur from my mouth, fuckas watch closely as it occurs with a limited amount

I love it when it's girl upon girl with one manay, put your butt on my mustache, fuck that

They hatin'/ saying i ain't amount to nothing well your right i should simply embrace it

But no amount could amount to a rap that could damage me

Fuck it its mmg, ima cross of def poetry and potent tree