This is a song about "Eight tails"

Let em marinate, you forever late

I chose to make mistakes at the age of eight

I'm so into you, witness a nigga make the bed bang

I was only eight when mamma had to move to amsterdam

"here's my address, meet you at my place at eight"

I'm spittin hungry like ain't shit up on my dinner plate

Flash forwards then back to him in seventy eight,

That involve ballpark franks and silver duct tape

If she don't fake, i work that pussy out, like it was outta shape

They giggle as he finishes off his delicate meal made of eight.

Out came some shit looking like a lincoln log eight feet long,

Nigga still tired so i'm yawnin, and now i'm gone

I swear these off rhyme bums are full of hate

We take our seats, in the first row out of eight

Type of nigga to jerk off to his own sex tape

You're level two i'm level eight we don't equate