This is a song about "Air"

When the depth chart came, there was no me there

Spinning like my many rims through the air,

It’s me and my nigga there until i’m a millionaire

Some sort of sensual magic can crackle through the air

Yessir... momma looking puerto rican and she got the best hair

Standing on the chair ready to kick and dangle in air.

I'm running out of air

It's how we put it there

Please, just peep the crystal method where

Everyday we live and breathe the air

It's justice for all but 90 percent unfair

Got our middle fingers in the air,

Creepin up on you fell me,cold air.

They tryin to say that i don't care

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

Your a kid posing like willow in bel air,