This is a song about "Shirts"

A twenty somethin cup

We dont got our shirts scrunched

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

Wear out tracks, let me do my thing, i got 16, for this roscoe thing

Cuz id be lyin and yall be fine chase bread with my dog muthafucka felines

They don't have the guts to spit the rhymes,tearing my shirts has got their lines,

Crystal glasseswe mash on them jealous bastards

They smoke black and wear black hats, with red shirts,

C-squared wearin some hawaiian shirts, every one got there butt hurts,

Take a shot at the excorcist then x em out with these words