This is a song about "Eggs bacon grits sausage"

I'm grand theft auto, racketeering, larceny, conspiracy, murder one

No offence taken, i incinerated this beat like fucking crispy bacon,

Thinking its a sausage, he's ready to roast it/

And strangle you with that fucking leather jacket

Vicious transmission for my vicious ambition

Canibus and grits aren't helping my mission

I like a down-lookin, all for it, flower bomb

She's like "son show these pigs what kinda bacon you're on."

I say its gettin poppin, but whats poppin is the bacon

That's how this shit be goin when you go for number one

Told my old lady to make me eggs without warning

Not concerned with most rappers me i'm a king

My rhymes drive rappers mad hungry like fat bacon,

Only fear death when you staring down a loaded gun

I’m callin’ on you ’cause i can’t do it myself

I keep it crackin like denny's eggs, cuz im the chef,