This is a song about "Ripped arms"

Designer shit, though i’m modest, astonishing to be honest

You're wishing for dick and you ended up getting your ass ripped

Regardless to all them, i appease her

I, own guns, got my own arms dealer

Six-fifty, three hundred my shirt free

Your arms enfold me, cloak me

I delete they history

Knees week, arms are sturdy

You got ripped son, from front to back and side to side,

For now everything just seem so right

With blood running fast down my arms

You haters put up your guards

Scars up and down my arms

Finish line with the tire marks