This is a song about "The harlem saint"

Enemies wanting to finish me, mind your self as a saint,

My name hold weight and you don't really keep the bar raised

She was the queen of the club

I'm a saint you ain't gonna step up

Pretend to the judge that you were a saint

She dealing with killa so you love her taste

They see me in that lavender tank, you'd rather just faint

Faces, sex on the white sand beaches of saint thomas, though this ain't

Asking her to meet me at six by the church of the saint to talk about things we had done and said

But then they'll have an accident and pick up another mani went to the bank to cash my check

Paint a faint picture of a saint and repaint with a richer mixture of framed fame

These girls all aboard, this young money trainhaving since fame shit'll never be the same

Hahaha, yothese felonies be like prophecies beggin me to stop

Lunatics the harlem globetrotters and there's no myths and the other guys got

Coroners comfort your mama

I bring the heat like the