This is a song about "The eighth grade"

And we got history, let's repeat it the right way

Eighth grade i got a message on facebook from a gay,

And a fist full of money give it to a fifth grade

I put it to your mug, and it ain’t gonna wait

And if you think your grade is a its the wrong answer

And i won't be lyin' when i say i’m a sick rapper

Bitch you say your my grade but we ain't in the same division,

I like it cause she a ten, but she say i'm the one

And if you think your grade is a its the wrong answer

I guess i got to be a fucking hand-me-down rapper

If i should die before i wake

I don't care about your grade,

And even though we seperated, you said that you'd wait

You're raging an got some grammar issues go back to first grade

Control our mental states, settle down and set it straight

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