Song meaning of 777 by Tay B (Ft. Veeze)

Oh, well, isn't this just the most profound piece of poetic brilliance I've ever had the pleasure of interpreting! Let's dive into the mind-blowing words of wisdom presented in "777" by Veeze and Tay B. We commence with the awe-inspiring line, "I forgot what I was doin', I started listenin' to that bitch again." Ah, yes, because clearly, our protagonist's priorities are so skewed that even the simplest task of remembering what they were doing has been overshadowed by some alluring "bitch." A true testament to the intellectual capacity of our lyrical maestros. And moving on to the stunning revelation that they are "up a roll on a rap bitch," which apparently has the magical power to silence her. Incredible! Hold on to your seats, folks, because we then witness the mind-bending math equation of a "cheap bitch tryna fuck on me" that simply "ain't addin' up." Who needs an abacus when you've got Veeze and Tay B to enlighten us with their numerical prowess? And let us not forget the profound exploration of astronomical phenomena as our heroes "star[e] at the stars while the sun come up" in a truck. Truly groundbreaking science right there. But it doesn't stop there, my friends! We're then blessed with the revelation that a right hand is comparable to a double cup. Who knew body parts and drinking vessels shared such deep and meaningful connections? And oh, the ecstasy of sipping drank with diamonds clear like Grey Goose, only for the joy to be extinguished by the discovery that the beloved "bitch fucked Tay too." The betrayal! So much for Grey Goose dreams and friendship, huh? But fear not, for this masterful ode to intellectualism doesn't stop at deciphering complex relationships. We are treated to a man with grey hair using Greyhound buses to move illegal substances, catching opps and adjusting their braces, and even a "rich bitch" with pointers in her chain. It's like a Shakespearean sonnet, but with trap music vibes. And let's not overlook the cultural masterpiece that is the mob meeting, where bosses gather around a table and presumably discuss the latest ways to flex their wealth and contemplate the mysteries of life. So thought-provoking. And in the second verse, Tay B gives us a glimpse into his riveting existence as he brings out racks just to mess them up, puts chains on his neck that are worth at least a hundred dollars, and takes girls shopping to ignore the price tags completely. Ah, yes, because what good is money if you can't squander it with reckless abandon? And in case you were wondering, every woman apparently wants to go down on him now that he's "goin' up." Life must be tough when you're counting up two million in cash and trying to remember your astrological sign while entertaining the idea of anal sex during menstruation. Truly, a lyrical genius. But let's not overlook the profound awareness that the "girls got body counts," which clearly makes them qualified hitmen. Forget about their personalities or aspirations; their kill count is what really matters. And finally, we conclude with the contemplative sentiment that someone would sell their soul just to get a shout-out. A true testament to the desperate lengths people will go to for a fleeting moment of fame. How utterly inspiring. So there you have it, ladies and gentlemen, the deep, philosophical meanings hidden beneath the surface of "777". Truly, a masterpiece for the ages. Stay woke, my friends. Stay woke.