T-shirts My father moved us to Richmond He had a job building ships They needed them for the war Then they didn't need his labor anymore So we moved further down the flatlands Where the rent was cheaper I started working with a beeper Now I'm standing at the intersection waiting on the reaper And the summer comes We eat our dinner to gunshots Every night I succumb To the sound of the homeless guy sorting through my trash And I'm tired of seeing friends on my T-shirts And the lessons that these summer seasons teach us Even Jesus cannot save us from our seizures So I question my allegiance to this crooked game that breed us And the summer comes again And the cops they do nothing And we're running out of men And who's gonna build those ships up in Richmond?