This is a song about "Tires of stress"

You just servin yourself, go pull up to pump three

But i'm not revealing the stress of losing whitney

Shotgun in a satchel in the back of the tires

If theres no i.d. adios got no interest in minors

Baby i’mma mess, mess

Success is best/unless the stress

You send me beats via email, i'mma send them back in a hearse

He's a nightrider, flame of hellfire on both of his tires

Of anyone willing to enlighten stress

My bitches ballin' to the maya moore's, yes

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

I refuse to be another being on this earth

I smoke og kuch fuck stress

Spending her time with him i guess

What we gotta do to survive

Get away from the stress of life