This is a song about "Nike air"

When the depth chart came, there was no me there

Then why the fuck am i yellin at air

Some sort of sensual magic can crackle through the air

Booger bear, i'll have you up in hooker gear, i swear

Spinning like my many rims through the air,

I'mma stop right there and i know you don't care

Creepin up on you fell me,cold air.

My coach ain't care, so i ain't care

We missed you on the charts last week, damn, that's right you wasn't there

You’re the plastic, i’m the passion and the magic in the air

Of the very same baby that the virgin mary raised

Khakis pressed, nike shoes crispy and fresh laced, so i guess it ain't

With that weed in the air

I'm love stoned and i could swear

I can smell it in the air

And if they did, they didn't care