This is a song about "Tank tops"

Nah … i ain’t deaf in my ear

Fill you gas tank with fucking fear

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

You're uncool like my mother kin

And i don’t know why you fuck niggas can’t see

It take a shank and metal tank to harm me

You think you're hip, you got that tank at abercrombie & fitch

Say you want that dope shit, welcome to satan's cabbage patch, bitch

You fucking dead bitch chips, i'm on my fifth bag with your bitch ass

I'm banking a full tank, you're running on low gas

Everything about me tops all of them

My raincoat, and gold wrappers, amen

I'm an eskimo, nigga, i got cold bars

I only fuck bitches who bust out of tube tops

Convertible coupe, bitches scream when they tops split

I'll roundhouse you into a fucking basket