This is a song about "His"

Cause time is money

Murder his family

I caught a felony loving the way the guns blow

And yes, his left wrist represents the way that his day go

I can taste the salt from my tears

His attachment, flawed till his last breath/

I ain't used to it, she got that hot love

Praised his homie for his quick handedness

Looking for them better days

His conscience can take him to his grave

I done lost too many homies to this motherfuckin' game

On his dying wish, his grave, his name, they set his astray house aflame,

For that paper, i'mma grind

Took his head n' beckoned his mind