This is a song about "Bullets in my rifle"

Don't fuck around and make it true

I reach for my piece and bullets flew

So she finally gets the courage to tell him on his arrival

I consider my flow a malignant rifle, and strip survival

My name hold weight and you don't really keep the bar raised

The sound of bullets pumping through my less stained

My mouth is like a lyrical beretta, my words are bullets

Two bitches named tiffany i left them with a pair of kids

Shoot bullets in your direction, 45 para

Is never that's equivalent to me and sarah

Sit on crates on my porch watching with a loaded rifle,

Ceremony with all my homies, i'm suicidal

Cause she made love to my rifle

Lady at the frank stand will

But somethin' was always missin' like six digits

You were just found with eight bullets in your left ribs