This is a song about "Eggs bacon grits sausage"

My side is all riders and your side dont buy tickets

Scat porn with corny lines consistency of grits

And that's a better reason to for me to take advantage with sex

Hey baster stop battling me (carl c) your master, your spiting some eggs

Call that bitch rondoi'm fresher than the prom hoteach her, we don't fly coachshe fuckin' but she act dumb

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

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

Sippy cup full of whip creamed hot chocolate

Mash up the 'tatoes whilst my bitch whisks the eggs

Monday through monday we be cashing checks

Like bacon, up on the skillet

And if i'm down with this banging shit

Just accept your fate, let the darkness lay it's eggs,

Thats my surroundings in compton, have common sense