This is a song about "Arms"

Bitches talk to me, and they send you niggas postcards

And in those third world countries it's used like soviet arms,

You haters put up your guards

Tug these sleeves up my arms

And my answer was look deep and dont fall in different arms

Killed by the violent kids equipped with firearms

Fuck pigs, fuck guards, all some fucking retards

Atomic bombs come like nations at arms

Your in my arms right next to me,

So high i’m on the ceiling baby

And if my mother answer, i'll ask her

I, own guns, got my own arms dealer