This is a song about "Air"

Cause you slum dawg and i'm the millionaire

Spinning like my many rims through the air,

We missed you on the charts last week, damn, that's right you wasn't there

Some sort of sensual magic can crackle through the air

It’s me and my nigga there until i’m a millionaire

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

Multiple middle fingers in the air

You got a baby boy or girl in there

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

Meet me in the tele where the lobby at, i'm probably there

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

Runnin' this bitch like i do not care

Then why the fuck am i yellin at air

Season opener, finna be there

She showed no lover's care, mauled like she was just cuttin' air.

A bunch of temptation facing when your wife ain’t there