This is a song about "We spark a blunt in class"

My ambition is wicked i put that shit on my hand

In a place where race and class defines your past,

We ain't poor, ain't middle class, we're in the shade of grey,

Me and my homieskick it like everyday

Rolling up a paper, blunt wraps go to vapor, in a puff,

The say they're heartless, but i feel them when they show me love

So while i hold this bottle of ciroc with a hand full of ass

Hes done with you bitch ass, your last fish, worse than a bass, im sittin in class,

Housing projects, middle class gangsters, aim and spark it,

Inked up on my hands and arms, got them jams in my pocket

Life of and outlaw

We spark, pull up then draw

When i get my hands on nines

We roll a blunt, higher then, flyin' kites

No desire to spark beef, light a fire in the dark street

But if you're not dying don't fucking bother to call me back, i'm sleep