This is a song about "Cheeto fry"

My j-o-b to roast or fry this age old beef till the mic is h-o-t,

Had so much kush and ciroc, bitch, i think my heart stop

Tell the homies i'm in heaven and they ain't got hoods

I fry niggas come at me than you might get yours

I got bigger fish to fry and wicked demons to conquer

So i told her i got something you've been waiting for

Big money, i’m talking bad hoes

Fry them up like potatoes

Convertibles with turbo jets

Or a sunday fry x4

In the lambo looking like a fly

If you do then ima have to aim and fry

I'm the c.e.o. of diplomat records, i sign myself

If critics say my rhyme's stink, i'll fry em til there's burnin smells

I don't wanna come down from this love i got on high

Hook me up to a chair and watch as my brains fry,