This is a song about "Stars in the heava"

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

Trying to say goodbye to the glamorous chains and cars

This blaze in my bars, needs a place in the stars

Now my watch fruity colors like trix in a box

And baby we could carve our names into the stars

We don't want you with skinny legs and the big ass ass shots

I'd shoot for the moon but i'm too busy gazing at stars

The big bad wolf to me you're just a minor fox

You pull up in parking lots

Imma look at the stars,

A fuck that we will never give is like our pops

Even though in nola we either ball or give rhyme stars,

My driver's out of this world, you playing bumper cars

Rather than buy our songs, they busy cheering the stars

Scii ain't aiming for the stars

When bret hart meet brett farve