This is a song about "Air"

It's been a half a year, i say we take it there

To see how long your lungs can stay starved of air

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

Fuck a bottle rocket blowin smoke out in the air

When the depth chart came, there was no me there

Spinning like my many rims through the air,

I'm running out of air

Stuntin' in my rarest pair

You’re the plastic, i’m the passion and the magic in the air

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

Please, just peep the crystal method where

Got our middle fingers in the air,

Then why the fuck am i yellin at air

Those flashing lights seem to cause a glare

If you thought it, it better be what you want

Until all the air bubbles have popped.