This is a song about "The harlem saint"

Im trying to have a good saint patricks day, im sippin 40s,

Well if its phony your only cause i can get you ins

On the beach of saint-tropez, but your man don’t lay

But more importantly taught me to pray

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

But that throat she got have a nigga stuck

I bring the heat like the

You made me wanna

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

Notice everything it wasn't. realizing why it shouldn't ever be again

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

No poor family wants to see his son gone in the middle of the day in harlem

Call that bitch rondoi'm fresher than the prom hoteach her, we don't fly coachshe fuckin' but she act dumb

So call the coroner or the mortician for the the

How you niggas pimpin if you spendin on vagina