This is a song about "11th grade"

I don't care about your grade,

You can't learn if mistakes ain't made

Arms seller of high grade like a piff dispenser

They is terrycloth with it, i'm italian leather

All my shit designeri fucked your bitch in versace, nigga

But don't let rappad lie with a falsely given grade a,

And if you think your grade is a its the wrong answer

And i hear em feeling my florida swagger

Lets take it back grade six, when i was feeling the fix,

There's no answer for it, these rhetorical lyrics

Since third grade i been packin bowls

This is love, nothing else close

Tricky as arithmetic was spittin' shit in sixth grade,

No days off is time gone, trying to get my paper straight

Made it out naija with nothing in the bank

Cause you can't even rap in the fourth grade band