This is a song about "Three little birds"

In the sky, telling birds to move it when i fly past

Kill him where he stand and stand over him, shake his hand

Plenty smoke, plenty rolled

Just killed two birds and got stoned.

Make your bitches' therapist ask for dental records

But now the truth is not a secret, it just flew with the birds

Money never ever hurt 'cuz rapping got a lot of perks

Become all the ugly pretty mythical miracle birds

Outside i hear girls, birds chiming as well.

Shows to do, got record to sell

Fuck, i was number three,

Six-fifty, three hundred my shirt free

Perfection doesn't exist if it doesn't consume her and the truth hurts

She like dudes whit lotto money from flippin lotta birds

Bitch, they call it motor city

Or two. or maybe three?