This is a song about "Italian numbers"

Sneak up on attack

Numbers don't i see that?

You send me beats via email, i'mma send them back in a hearse

Old rubber burners feed kids, have to run the numbers

The numbers unknown, hang up the phone

We just want you back at home

Adding up these numbers like a fuckin mathematician,

I’m simply fuckin’ with bitches that know they whole position

Why you call me back? don't lie

Riper than italian rye

And the headrest had to have about eight thorns

People wonder at the numbers of hordes

Wish you niggas father understood where the condom was

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

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

Women'll sell they soul just to buy some attention