This is a song about "Amount"

But the fucking bank account, any any any amount

Leaning off the actavis, passing blunts round and round

Cause every girl i deal and fuck, it's always against her will

Higher than the amount of confessions in a confessional

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

Even if the amount of money is so small

Smack 'em out the park, delete their number, that's my last call

Were funny enough to get a bogus amount of props.

Its way different ma you see em passin' out bars

Mix a little syrup, it ain't no way to cure him

The amount of temptation surrounds me in isolation

Me and my family, my friends, nigga we ride for you always

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

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

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