This is a song about "Air"

Standing on the chair ready to kick and dangle in air.

Ain't no skipper but all my bitches is ginger hair

Turn around and then you flip your hair

I don't even breathe the same air

With that weed in the air

They tryin to say that i don't care

Og like the prince of bel air,

They're tryin to say that i don't care

Some sort of sensual magic can crackle through the air

Insecure as bitches blind dating with a pimple there

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

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

And even when it's dark out, the sun is shining somewhere

Rap and do the impossible like i can carry air.

You sitting at the bar wearing barbaro's hair

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