This is a song about "Finga on a trigga"

It's cole, won't lie, won't stop 'til the race is won

Raw, like a hard on wit no condom on

Let's buy guns and kill those kids with dads and mom

Stack a gang of bricks racks on racks get our grind on

Its a funeral on april twentieth,

Mama told me it'd be days like this

I'll murk em like dirk nowitzki pullin the trigga from three

A single mother with a problem child, daddy free

And get on a flight today

I make forty-some dollars a day