This is a song about "Eight"

Figure eight clocks, see the hourglasses stopped

See, the love is gone with one another, it's hard

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

I swear these off rhyme bums are full of hate

Petey pop off, rip, free lou, been lootin’ money since like fourth grade

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

Must be part of some big plan to keep a brotha in tha state

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

Been locked up eight years on the real

Tell them girls right there that the man right here

Leaving him eight hundred and forty pounds heavy,

Playbook like a oxford dictionary

You know when your homie barely blink, he just done powder

I take home billions and pay my workers eight bucks an hour,

I was born to do the damn thing

Eight in the evening and we're up smoking