This is a song about "Italian mob"

If i could call it a sandwich it would be italian

Fucking chin-checkin' punks 'til he's outta breath and done

You know, kiss his mom. she gave him wisdom charm

Hold up call it prime time, hold up i'm a mob bomb.

I ain't bitter my nigga, i respect your position

But this italian is too slick, guess it's my greasy skin.

A couple of haters looking, i’m knowing them niggas hot

This walkin' time bomb has enough bars to kill a mob

If we do the unthinkable would it make us look crazy

I'm in college now got the professors to mob with me

Riper than italian rye

Live off my lie and my lullaby

Well in that case, brother, then love her hard

No job, got robbed, by the mob, i sobbed.

I'm trynna beat up every beat until my feet at the top

It gets me madder than a mob, it gets me thinkin' i'd rather rob