This is a song about "Fists"

But love my music, say i do nothing but hits

And inequality, .... still we ball our fists,

Ya weed quiet, you broke, y’all eaten lean pockets

Now i’m gonna need all you to pump your fists

For real my fists are made of steal

But ain't gonna be no stress in here

And so the muscle flow is something you can't get no muzzel for

He's one of those guys that pump their fists to the skies screamin "im a believer!"

Come wit me you'll smoke around

Fists out, swingin' 'till the 56th round

Was just such a fufilling feeling, we stuck in the building

I had to find some way to keep my fists on my hips without hitting

I'll greet through my fists, give your ribcage a knock

Aiyyo cam before the cops rush, close the spot