This is a song about "Fitted suits"

You, you, you have to pay for that

My jordans high-top, snapback fitted cap

And louder than a microphone that's slightly near a lion's den

Gangsters walkin' 'round in suits, i bring out the thug in them,

#here these dumb ass suits say we ain't suited to dwell

Only getting high cuz we closer to hell

I dont want to make it in a office like men in suits,

And you ain't gettin' it, 'til you start payin' jewels

Sixty-two, without no tint; missing roof on my new shit

I got my du-rag on with my fitted sittin’ on it

Six-fifty, three hundred my shirt free

Full of green gold hell yeah that suits me,

I rather give you my last to see you live again

Gangsters walkin' 'round in suits, i bring out the thug in them,

And dip her teeth in gold molds and flossed the shit

Cause it’ll part the red c on your clubs fitted