This is a song about "Amount"

But i told them every single day that i'd amount to something

Wear out tracks, let me do my thing, i got 16, for this roscoe thing

But if you took a second mr. mirror, you would see

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

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

For him to be true is all you ask but i'm foolish

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

Ain't heard a nigga thorough, it ain't perfect, but i work

Sex is just a weapon, i can leave you wet from this pistol

Higher than the amount of confessions in a confessional

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

This my zombie circus, you better get a fuckin' ticket

Trying to be the richest i can amount ya

They infiltrate our homes, africa

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