This is a song about "Fried butter"

Making this butter off these bloodsuckers

Penncounting pennys over tha years

Yo she think my steering wheel on the wrong side

Now i don't want to sound bad, gangster or fried,

You just working with the scraps you was given

Fried, despised my heart that lies within/

Would you cry if i told you that i've died inside, brain fried

My uncle doing life, inside prison he wasn't wrapped too tight

Mine? type: nice. light come off the white ice

Yeah your fried i may be pork rines but i survive

I smoke butter the same color as jalen rose

2 v's in the street, blowing trees with hoes

Like the nigga on the block waving his glock but won't squeeze

Running and dicing fried rice and no accent on rice please,

Instead of veggie fried lies and man's eyes exposed,

Paparazzi in the trees, please curtains closed