This is a song about "Tires of stress"

Dont make me waiting with that stress

And i'mma keep ya fresh

With my red p hat, nigga you know we back

And imma makes sure all four of ya tires are flat,

But thank god that i'm blessed, that's none of my stress

But i can't keep you baby girl i'mma confess

But it made me the man i am today, thanks

Pirelli on my tires, call me 6 bands

Put to rest feeling of life ain't got no stress at best it's safe sex

Ironic this verse was conceived while drivin’ a lex

Fondly carressing stress,

Yes sir, please confess

Yeah, uh, where's the love for the sixteen writers

Shotgun in a satchel in the back of the tires

Regardless to all them, i appease her

Shoot your tires out and watch your car roll over.