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

Crispy, crispy chicken.

It ain't where i been

Southern comfort food, mashed potatoes, fried chicken,

Why me, i say it cause we number one

I can out-preach a deacon once the words get to speaking

The enemies know my fist and the groundfloor better anything

Instead i misled, and i hit you with a closed fist.

Suck her neck before i eat her like she's breakfast

And we gonnna toast up for the niggas that hate

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

We must, be the flyest of southerner men

Cause kappa's sadistic, slap them and fist them

Somewhere in this chicken scratch i scribble and doodle

I got my finger on the mothafuckin' pistol

Hold on you can see my vision

Shout out chicken getting chicken