This is a song about "Holding you in my arms"

After all that shit you still call me baby in your arms

Bitches talk to me, and they send you niggas postcards

And i just want to hold her

I, own guns, got my own arms dealer

Tire marks, tire marks

Scars up and down my arms

Just to stay in your arms, as you hold me tight.

Yeah the coach used to say i was awesome, right

I was like a young simba couldn’t wait to be the king

Now she got you in your neck with the knife that she was holding

You haters put up your guards

That you were in my arms