This is a song about "Face paint"

I dont write rhymes i paint pictures

Fresh out the chair with the clippers

And the money that my momma spent on rent and clothes

Forever submerged, viewing the paint, beneath boats

Ima lay it down and have myself a taste

Make you faint when i go hard in the paint

That's why i here whispers

Potions paint me mental pictures

Look at the paint on the cart (cart)

Like damn mama the reason i work hard

Paint a picture of a thousand word scripture,

Niggas who be rapping how real they are

She dealing with killa so you love her taste

Cross left cross right, now dribble down the paint

Young chino i go hard in the paint

Cause i’m going out with a fist raised