This is a song about "Fried chicken and grape juice"

I'ma try to rhyme and get through, i'm documenting the truth

Rollin' down the street, smokin' indo, sippin' on gin and juice

Had to teach the bitch manners, now i gotta learn her

Cause i know vodka and juice make a hell of a mixture,

A photographic memory, i'm never gonna lose

Wake up in your livin' room, calm, relaxed, gin and juice,

Callin' these bitches cuz bitches ain't even women

I'm walkin' to the food trays to get some fried chicken,

And he's the only nigga in this particular grade

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

Please lord forgive me for my sins, cause here i come

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

And you believe when a rapper wan' be one

Southern comfort food, mashed potatoes, fried chicken,