This is a song about "Big tires"

Then come back later and slash the tires on your wheelchair.

No need to trip, you can tell em that i’m cool as hell

If i give a fuck, it's probably from my dick

And my name too big, and my gang too big

Myers, liars, try us, bar fires, slash ya car tires,

You send me beats via email, i'mma send them back in a hearse

From the big big city nyc not a west coast potpouuri suburb

After i dig her up and then eat her out with a bit of mustard

And when it come to the cash

Big tits and a big ass

Your tires gone missing so you go get your baton

Cause in my criminal mind, nobody violates the don

Metaphor, chilling with better whores

Slaughterhouse, big sean, and big smalls,

My skill so raw you see threads on your tires

It's 14 racks, what i put on that purse