This is a song about "My s"

Well, i’m flyin' over, literally, flyin' over cities

College degree, scores on my s a t, shit, please,

No one knows my struggle, they only see the trouble

It’s sick and spiteful, 2pac’s twisted grim disciple

Well if its phony your only cause i can get you ins

You know they bangin' in the car harder than 808's,

The outline which you n****s out dated

But i remain the good kid

That’s why the paparazzi made that nigga hit his fucking head that’s what that fool get

An eighth of grape ape hella joints to the head got my eyes all varsity red

I stuff you in the trunk, drunk

My g"s have been handcuffed,

Cause when in danger those niggas changepuff weed

When i run b-town i got size 11's on my feet

S on my chest like a superman vest

And we gotta win, she wanna be my friend