This is a song about "Chicken"

I run the summer, don't plan on sharing prize

Get ya' cake right, every chicken wanna slice

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

She like, girl you wrong running away from home

Word of advise, don't feed your customers chicken fried mice,

No top on mine, niggas gonna hate, man fuck them guys

The mirror's screaming at me saying i'm emmi lola's son

We crack jokes about life, our moms, and brother's chicken,

With a barrage a raps that theyre itching for like chicken pox

So i'mma push it to the end and take quarters on shots

Closest you'll get is being chicken

But somehow it made them listen

Served in my kitchens with my fired chicken,

But i just wanna know if i speak could you listen