This is a song about "Good grade"

Fuck a cold sore, getcha getcha own cup

Good morning, good raps, good morrow, good luck

Since third grade i been packin bowls

If we ain't right and always at the throats

But money never lasts, in fact it's only last

Cause you can't even rap in the fourth grade band

Must be part of some big plan to keep a brotha in tha state

And save your shitty freestyle rhymes for a kid in the 5th grade

And any chick you can screw i can get wetter

Arms seller of high grade like a piff dispenser

In my room, redefinin' the meanin' of black holes

A grade could be reduced, just take em as bad jokes.

Then you look like a fucking fool

My grade six teacher was queer and not cool,

You mothers still in grade school i got a degree

Did the best i could, raised in insanity