This is a song about "Crop tops"

Man in the mirror, i can’t get my shot again

Everything about me tops all of them

Basically these basic bitches crop shirts til they're not covering

Hold up now don’t get it twisted, i ain't hating, do your thing

Black sneakers. black tops. talking smack while the smack drops

Fat rhymes every time, bitch, roseanne bars

The beggars can't borrow, the record sales drop

For some nice hookers, the cream of the crop

Took a shot, tired of runnin from the niggas and the cops

Cream of the crop, scheming to chop and place an mc in a box

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

Kaiser soze, we never see him

Trying to say goodbye to the glamorous chains and cars

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

Then all i really want is for her to go down low

And boppers hopping on the tops of cops 'cause i say so