This is a song about "Box tops"

Coolest thing to come out the ice box

Watching for hollow-tip shots

Everything about me tops all of them

We must, be the flyest of southerner men

The corn-tops ripe and the old breeze blowin',

First off congratulations on the win

We clouds from a spliff, touting and spouting quips off the bare tops

Nobody rep for the skins, they busy cheering them stars

She pretty but she insecure as baby-mother scars

And he aint even cum, she just started licking tops

And like a boxer im beat her box,

And when this beat drops, your heart stops

You pull up in parking lots

So i can rip out your voice box,

More props. r.i.p., my poor pops

Blood stainin black and white tops