This is a song about "Killers in the stree"

We in the field building muscle while you watch the house

I make this music for the track killers, and when my trumpet sounds,

Notice it every time i pick up the microphone and spit

They had a life but the pain killers grabbed it and snatched it

If you come up and hang with my crew, you're walkin' 'round killers,

Now i'm back on my grizzle, a plethora of strippers

Where we can drink liquor and no one bickers over trick shit

Then pop the pain killers at a rate like i'm illiterate

I fly em, i’m outta reachcause denim is everything

Beheaded the killers of the game and now i'm beaming/

I was raised to bump the illest shit, not a gangstewr but im certified hang with killers bitch

But anyway i want to make sure that i have to calibrate with an orange

Tupac, the nigga of truth, the nigga of heart, back when he was the real deal//

#3 my homework's on the table, so now ill never finish it cause the killers here,

I remember tripping, walking through the set like my glock don’t think

Of felons, killers and monsters, so revealing and honest