This is a song about "Gee forty"

It's ironic cause i always hear you talking about one

Latin assassin bustin off like a forty-four fuckin magnum

Its my prove of sharing the stamp, the forty two sedated

That i'mma pay for with dimes, nickels and quarters and shit

Not with all of em, maybe forty

Nothin sweet when i attend, see

They've stomped me into the mud, gee for what reason, you stumped me

Then she on her facebook like when we finna party

And every woman looking at you knew that you was lucky

I sip the forty ounces, and mix that shit like brass monkey,

Coz i smoke just like real gee

Headband endo, ya'll ain't ready

Ho, slut, no love, turn beef to cold cuts

Forty mental slugs for these corny gental thugs