This is a song about "Praising"

Y’all ain’t the praising saints with the perfect angel’s face,

Cause all you got now is too much room space, shoe space

I ain't praising no one, no one is amazing for one.

Body bad as hell, her vagina is heaven

Heathens praising weakened legions

Weight stand out like pimples and cold-sore lips

And she deserves praising. fuck all of you who try to hurt her.

Oh you mad ‘cause i’m stylin’ from the city of power

Y’all ain’t the praising saints with the perfect angel’s face,

Ever since grandma died, everyone parted ways

Ironic we on air, but they never let us breathe

He believes in praising cows but he eats beef,