This is a song about "3rd street saints"

We supply the weapons 3rd world cops are taking shots with,

This ain't mine, it's ricky, but shhh don't tell my bitches

Now we all in the street

I don't know defeat

Claiming i rap like i'm street,

From the back seat, back seat

I’m lost without them, when they around i am charles sheen

3rd degree no not masonry, its a bloody murder scene,

While i’m walking down the street

And 5-0 they work for us, walk the beat

I slumped, in my chair and my grades

I dont know whether your apostles or saints

Get to her place 901 3rd street get out my ride and knock on her front door,

While his fiends for cream well exceeded the dream she once lived for

Hot whips somethin cold on my feet

It's like you grew up on drug street, from jump street