This is a song about "Fried children"

See my hands start to shake

I don't wanna be fried or baked

She in colors and shit, she off that northern lights, right

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

Verse 1: i'm eating this fried chicken.

Can’t you see just how long my run

Fearin what it show you, reality is gold

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

There's children dying and i am crying

Abroad flying and bar buying from broad writing

Don't make any excuses, you want to care for the children

And the dirty ladera, i can't forget where i came from

9 months later, new car, can’t afford a son

Southern comfort food, mashed potatoes, fried chicken,

Dub a.l.e., still a son of a gun

As i christen your children