This is a song about "Pita bread"

Got that bread, meat, cheese, sandwich

My life, screw it with a drunk bitch

Then it bunny hopped off my shoulder, now my conscience dead

And even though i try my best i'm never touching the bread,

Now they want me to grease-up, be less african and get amnesia

And every night would swallow a big fat sausage meat pita

I stay making bread, i married sarah lee

We the 93 chicago bulls baby

I would sleep blinded from fright, while dad was makin' some bread

Make my women follow dreams, pussy popping follow head

And i roast ya bitch

Got that bread, meat, cheese, sandwich

If you ain’t got ‘em, then bob your head

Take home for dinner with soup and bread

You haven't flowered loco

U stole my money bread and dough