This is a song about "A class"

Unloads a bunch a class tthinking is the ass that pass

Yaknowhati'msayin? you need to be on first class

I'm a first class writer,

Through the barbed wire

As you can probably see im a different class of

But you been looking for love in all the wrong places

So while i hold this bottle of ciroc with a hand full of ass

My ass funky like a cab driver in new york city, pass the class,

Whether you rhyme slow or the beat fast

In a place where race and class defines your past,

Except she's got a little more ass

On a whole different class

Cause we left those class rooms a bit early for lunch

You so f-full of your-s-self that you just sit and judge

You know...you know who you are

I cut class, said i was a faker