This is a song about "Your grades"

Drops there jaw in aw!like a stock marketer watching the stock market fall

Okay, bad grades, good grades, it's 8th grade, lil boys out here tryna get laid, but all

Where dark niggas with dark thoughts and long braids

All they care about is the grades,

Came back from parents evening, got my grades

To be great, i'm giving it all it takes

Fuck your bars, fuck your demons,

I’m so fly i don’t even got wings

After this eighth be high like out of middle school

I never skipped a class, got good grades, and i played it cool,

But more importantly taught me to pray

Dropped in my grades and forced down in school with no say.

Metaphor, chilling with better whores

My gun your scars, your wrist your calls

Leave your running to your mamma,

Santana, zeke the kufi poppa