This is a song about "Rainbow guns"

Remember my guns like a mic,

If his bitch insist on getting sick

Now, nigga, it’s the prince

Without the sound of guns

And then rainbow on sunday

He’s comin', that's what these hoes say

3m's on my new balance

Artillery weak with guns

Pocket with a cash full of bashful weapons

I pack more soul than chicago packs guns,

And all he wanted was a taste of the rainbow.

Never tell em bend over i just make em’ take a bow

Not caring for lives, only profit and guns

But this ain't physics or rocket science