This is a song about "Chicken in the morining"

Weird niggas make sick too i don't need no pistol

In this chicken scratch i scribble and doodle

The post man steps within and brings me my ordered chicken wings,

Soon as para finite will paralyze her existence

We need some chicken up in up in here

I don't know, obviously i disappear

Born alone, work alone, die alone

Chicken bone, not a phone, chicken bone, not a phone

I don't give a fuck either like father, like son, i'm done

Do you find yourself a hero, a villain, or just a chicken

But somehow it made them listen

Served in my kitchens with my fired chicken,

I pop one, you pop one

Closest you'll get is being chicken

I'm singin poems for supporters of my songs

Chicken nugget biscuit in a bbq sauce