This is a song about "Fist bumps and chicken wing"

And a fist full of money give it to a fifth grade

They ain't authentic, tell them i don’t even relate

Crispy, crispy chicken.

Girls fast how jamaicans run

Make them more insecure when they caught one

Closest you'll get is being chicken

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

Until then, my feet planted on the ground, shadowboxing my conscience

I got my finger on the mothafuckin' pistol

Somewhere in this chicken scratch i scribble and doodle

Earl boykins i 'm hearing voices i try and listen

Whatever man, as long as tyson isn't chicken

That's why this my mission statement, bitch get it straight

I'm not a chicken, and i'm sorry that this rap is late,

And thinkin 'bout it, i'm goin and gettin another one

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