This is a song about "Air"

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

Fuck a bottle rocket blowin smoke out in the air

Rap and do the impossible like i can carry air.

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

When the depth chart came, there was no me there

Multiple middle fingers in the air

Some sort of sensual magic can crackle through the air

To get it in, any minute, i'll be hit with a stare

Your a kid posing like willow in bel air,

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

I mean me is there, but it's like three there

When they open the box and inhale the pale air.

Spinning like my many rims through the air,

And now i walk around without a care

Creepin up on you fell me,cold air.

Believing the screens or anything there