This is a song about "Air"

Spinning like my many rims through the air,

Striving, working nine to five with no health care

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

Fuck a bottle rocket blowin smoke out in the air

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

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

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

On the lines of a wire right in the nice air

I'm out of here, gimme that breath of fresh air

Or try to fill the shoes of an invisible pair

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

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

You appear as if you care

With that weed in the air

Some sort of sensual magic can crackle through the air

Baby, just come close, let me play in your hair