This is a song about "Air jordans"

My jordans high-top, snapback fitted cap

It ain't my place to say and i hear all that

On the lines of a wire right in the nice air

You sitting at the bar wearing barbaro's hair

I'm running out of air

But now it's more declare

Got our middle fingers in the air,

Cause a nigga main joint wanna do my hair

But still i'll probably be judged for not ownin' some jordans,

Because that booty mad thick behind your juicy ass lips

Multiple middle fingers in the air

And got her room number, you can find me there

Rap and do the impossible like i can carry air.

Fuck barack’s change, we’d rather talk milian’s hair

When they open the box and inhale the pale air.

Will walking on my heart, wish you was still there