This is a song about "Saints"

Used to catch us on the roof or behind the stairs

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

Heyyy! better daysgot me thinkin' 'bout better days

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

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

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

I can smell it when i go outside

Like hard in the paint, no saints in sight

And any connotation is viewed many ways

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

Wale, more times than not, am not for whom the air waves

I dont know whether your apostles or saints

Gold saints i despise so that don't even matter

She still don't know i made sarah to strangle her