This is a song about "Arms"

Jt: didn't get a gift for her

I, own guns, got my own arms dealer

Get rough with me, that night flow

Hold your arms cry and wallow

Tire marks, tire marks

Tug these sleeves up my arms

Your arms enfold me, cloak me

Six-fifty, three hundred my shirt free

I be calling out game like miles at the farms

After all that shit you still call me baby in your arms

Atomic bombs come like nations at arms

Fuck pigs, fuck guards, all some fucking retards