This is a song about "Air"

A bunch of backstabbing niggas, hope the knife ain’t there

A deadly storm concoction is formed from cold hearts and hot air

Blowin' fuck it i don't care, dreads is flyin' everywhere

You’re the plastic, i’m the passion and the magic in the air

With that weed in the air

Right, now you say you don't care

Or at least inquire similar desires

And the air force scrambles fighters

Those flashing lights seem to cause a glare

Then why the fuck am i yellin at air

Booger bear, i'll have you up in hooker gear, i swear

Your a kid posing like willow in bel air,

I'm fresher than will smith walking through bel air.

When the depth chart came, there was no me there

This for my niggas that really rap hard

Until all the air bubbles have popped.