This is a song about "Saints"

With my lost saints. i love thee with the breath,

Carefree i don’t need the stress

Jesus christ, the king of these latter-day saints here

Since the birth of my son, the street life losing appeal

My rhymes so hot they make the saints sizzle

Baby girl my stroke official

My music is like confetti rain when you win a race

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

Cuz bitches can manipulate in several different ways

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

Now move back over here to the right

Like hard in the paint, no saints in sight

And i won't be lyin' when i say i’m a sick rapper

Gold saints i despise so that don't even matter