This is a song about "Fuck players"

Thinkin they true players, but they soft as fuck after the first couple of layers

We've lost so many kids to gun violence, and the facts are worse,

Look deep inside my train of thoughts, gold ring players,

Know it hurts that she flirts with a nigga this is worse

Call 'em dumb players who are not sprayers

I refuse to be another being on this earth

I get gritty on wax like record players- i'm the slayer of that kind

Then bring your big bad ass to california, cause we ain't hard to find

And in my mind's eye i see this place, the players go in fast

Auction coke to the coppers, glocks in the locker and

Crank it up like you don't give a fuck fuck fuck

And i ain't shallow, material things suppress bad luck

I was playing with guns

Fuck your bars, fuck your demons,