This is a song about "Gat"

Nigga ain't nothing sweet like a kool aid pack

But now my shakin' hand's in his face with a gat

Presidential suite and bitch, i never use my right to vote

Gat under my sheep coat, i'm blowin' clouds of weed smoke,

No room for improvement with my gat surges, my head is fuckin spinnin like lap circles

Tryin to torture em to tell, i'm gettin mailbut ain't nobody sayin much, the same old nuts

And they'll smack a policeman with a gat in each hand,

Rolling a double rhouse full of happiness, weed and drank

My hairs done right. outfits tight. a nickel plated gat with christian dior

Loc’s on, chucks low, black beanie dogpatron top wash straight from the liquor store

I can rap and make you feel a capsule going down your tracks

Blasted out a gat with a flow so fast it'll ransack the god damn tampax

Without her making attempts to garner all of my attention

Doin wat i do is not a sin i always keep a stray gat in the bin

Ratattat and his gat, aren't something you can tame

To this day, the game, will never be the same