This is a song about "Shoot your tires"

Your tires gone missing so you go get your baton

Let's buy guns and kill those kids with dads and mom

See me, i’d rather cut let ya body give birth

I'm a race car you're a van with flat tires

Shoot your self-esteem, put you on the spot

I get my cake; i love hip hop

When big lips is in the attic armed with an addict's arm

If this was c.o.d, ill shoot your ass every time you re-spawn

Then never touch it, like your goatee it's grown for years

Shotgun in a satchel in the back of the tires

Set you on fire like tires breaking apart your moral fibers

Probably fuck up your budget, yea, i’m playing with numbers

When timbo is in the party, everybody put up they hands

I'll pick up your bill then shoot you dead and the tangueros will tip their hats