This is a song about "Money guns drugs frees"

These chalance give me balance

Artillery weak with guns

Doin twenty to life in san quentingettin calls from my nigga mike tyson, ain't nuttin nice

The lives, survived to prize my vital n' heightening energy, rhymin' with better frees

Forget it its in the past memories pass i rather not rap about guns, drugs, and ass,

All i wanna do is sit back and watch you move and i'll proceed to throw this cash

We bustin' like shot guns

3m's on my new balance

Is money, drugs, hoes, violence washed up routine

50 dollars on some shoes you ain't ever seen

Cuz she came back with the kid and yoi been payin ever since

If you're black, you're always a thug, and you have drugs and guns

Cause i start frees that sparks beef yet stops, cease

But now i'm pointin the finger at police

Money drugs and women seem to be the only the the radio can play! (*white noise sound*)

Then it's back to the corner where we sell cracksome of you niggas is bustas, you running round