This is a song about "Saints"

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

That he felt when he dealt with the physiological phase

Two times, cause a youngin ain't died

Like hard in the paint, no saints in sight

But everybody’s self-made carved their own names

I dont know whether your apostles or saints

My rhymes so hot they make the saints sizzle

Cause it doesn't seem really as simple

And served it to the public on a silver platter

Gold saints i despise so that don't even matter

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

Everybody, just clap your hands if your a real

Ever since grandma died, everyone parted ways

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