This is a song about "Italian numbers"

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

I give him a helpin' hand, bring him out to thugz mansion

Runnin' numbers in a circle, proportion box,

Took a shot, tired of runnin from the niggas and the cops

If i could call it a sandwich it would be italian

Yet, it is forever and a day to forgive and forget one

Where fiends always on that water like a lily pad

No matter if you black, once you go italian you won't back,

People wonder at the numbers of hordes

We come through throbbing like thunder storms

Forgetting numbers on my checks but the bank just lets me

Better keep that ho on a leash don't make your only

Fuck around and pay your rent lets go in my car and fake the tint

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

I hear you callin' me to come back, i'm a sucka for love

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