This is a song about "Amount"

Account the amount we are paid

And that was when i was in the eighth grade

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

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

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

He fathers her only kid that's why my homies let him live

Were funny enough to get a bogus amount of props.

We don't want you with skinny legs and the big ass ass shots

This a different motor man better go to work

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

But the fucking bank account, any any any amount

Lemonade connoisseur life's lemons coming out

The amount of temptation surrounds me in isolation

They wanna see a nigga lose but i’m destined to win