This is a song about "Timmac your shit"

Luck on my brim supreme keeps me warm

Of your shit raps and the real shit i brainstorm

Because there ain't no coming back from that

I aint lettin' you win with your shit

I'm fittin' shit, your hatin' it, your littleness, your genitals.

And all we lack is communication like service sucks

Called that bitch my quaterback, wild cat all that

You rappers approach me like your tough shit,

When it came to grams it was 90 i fried

Your playing my shit on repeat

Your talking shit dropping shit like toxic

And get a hall pass for this class-act shit

I dont really shakespeare

Move your shit outta here