This is a song about "Air conditioning"

We missed you on the charts last week, damn, that's right you wasn't there

Fuck a bottle rocket blowin smoke out in the air

Believing the screens or anything there

When they open the box and inhale the pale air.

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

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

Then why the fuck am i yellin at air

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

Your a kid posing like willow in bel air,

Please, just peep the crystal method where

Everyday we live and breathe the air

I'm just sellin' my thoughts there

I said hey, you right there

With that weed in the air