This is a song about "Chicken nuggets in my pants"

My hands grabbing everything in sight, and my pants sagging,

Seldomly blasting i would stomp him without asking

Somewhere in this chicken scratch i scribble and doodle

They must come with a bible, swine flu, and a pistol

There's a million names for your kind of chronic

For either rock in your pants the crack or best dick

I'm singin poems for supporters of my songs

Chicken nugget biscuit in a bbq sauce

Served in my kitchens with my fired chicken,

Fucking chin-checkin' punks 'til he's outta breath and done

He in bootcamp, you on food stamps

I literally almost shit my pants/