This is a song about "Hand washing"

Trip, and then you never snitch

Bullets in ya hand bitch

Washing these holy lands in their heathen blood,

Trying to get away, but i think im stuck

Got racks you don’t understand

To get to hold your hand

In my hand theres a nine

Break it down one time

For 5 grand, with intentions to expand

Next thing you know things got out of hand

Won’t pop another pill, can’t drink another sip

Washing dishes as a kid and maybe getting a tip.

Scrilla fan, oh boy and

With a blunt in there hand,

I'm hot breeze, snot sneeze

Hand over the knife please