This is a song about "Fuckin numbers"

Hostile with them hoes, i got a dollar in my pocket plus a dream

Where are you? fraying for numbers on ma screen, i guess your stuck with some thirteen.

80 holes in your shirt, there: your own jamaican clothes

I got a lotta numbers on dees paper notes

Pray to god i don't do some stupid shit and end up in a hearse

Our debt is crazy because our money is just printed numbers

Pay attention, focus, dividin rappers like numbers in a quotient

I remember tripping, walking through the set like my glock don’t think

Adding up these numbers like a fuckin mathematician,

That's because thats these compton streets was built not to win

I'm stuck inside a slump runnin' numbers like proportion boxes,

Swag-er. this is a mixtape about... nothing. not on drugs

To destroy artist till you'll have to guess the numbers by triple digit estimates.

Cry, die, tie, then sigh from relief from bottling up too much grief ever since

Of better days when you ain't have to settle for whatever played

(pause)........or ill put sum numbers on yo ass like a license plate,