This is a song about "3rd street saints"

Jesus christ, the king of these latter-day saints here

Just let me do the talking man i know how niggas feel

The drug that they brain need

Scream like nightmares from a street

I dont know whether your apostles or saints

But everybody’s self-made carved their own names

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

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

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

Can't use the phonecause i'm sure someone is tappin indid it before

The marathon of this game always changes in pace

Y’all ain’t the praising saints with the perfect angel’s face,

But don't fall asleep

Yea we hard on the street

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

You can bet your bottom dollar the bottom lips will need stitches