This is a song about "Air max"

And i make music for the fuck of it, no fame

It's not a game when i tell you, that i feel this max payne

And never should you tear

I'm running out of air

Creepin up on you fell me,cold air.

They're tryin to say that i don't care

Through the microphone, max alone, hold the throne, slam ya,

Ok i’m wale but you can call me nada

I'm steady well known from here to bel air

You sitting at the bar wearing barbaro's hair

I can hear the bells ringing off the nice dream truck

My lyrics are ill to the max that's why they've thrown up,

These flows keeping it up to the maximum cause the max

Rocking black and gold stocking caps and fleur-de-lis shockey hats

I don't even breathe the same air

I said hey, you right there