This is a song about "Pitch perfect"

Kill a bitch, listen as i sing high pitch," these sins i commit, i blame you,

And what remains from a twelve gauge to the brainarguements with my boo is true

Thank fuck this is just lyrics we don't need to adjust the pitch

They frontin', they charles s. dutton movin' garbage

I could tell you your perfect

See, you're my best friend

You bulemic, struggling niggas ain’t eating supper

He made her special, the perfect wife, perfect mother.

You just don't like what i'm doing, the lyrics twitter my image

Filled with sorrows so i trip, incidents by which i scream high pitch

I said practice makes perfect

Hold up yea we the best

Hold my tears i tried my best

Always make shit perfect

Plus 11-99 in his muthafuckin' chest

Either ways it's perfect