This is a song about "Fourth grade"

I like to think i write and rap as tighter than some biker shorts

I mesomorph, into a dwarf, after engulfing the fourth quartz.

Wisest to be rappin since mac was in fourth grade.

Most bitches, niggas gone me real or fake

Funny how money, chains and whips make me feel free

You mothers still in grade school i got a degree

That’s like a complacent atheist is asking for jesus

I did ever thing to make them grade this, an a plus

Since third grade i been packin bowls

Other words, fill ‘em up wit’ holes

I put it to your mug, and it ain’t gonna wait

Tricky as arithmetic was spittin' shit in sixth grade,

A million home sellers couldn't find a realer state

F a m e, i learnt that in 2nd grade,