This is a song about "Paper stars"

I grew up in new orleans, ball players and rhyme stars,

In this fucking line at ralph's buying granola bars

Shoot for the moon, rocket-launch for stars/

Whole lot of cobras with dope like soap bars

Imma look at the stars,

When bret hart meet brett farve

My friend's father got shot, it was homicide, he would see stars,

Metaphors in every color, these indelible bars

I'm gettin paper, yeah i get paper,

Real nigga no pistol to keep to shoot her

I'm gettin paper, yeah i get paper.

She got mad i leaned over, i'm nursing her

Watching for hollow-tip shots

I leave em frettin more than rock stars

Everyone has heard of the stars

Who fly? i'm a red eye with eye drops