This is a song about "Fried onions"

Or any type of suitable living condition listen

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

My brain work differently then others baby it is fried

I leave a hater like he lost a watermelon fight

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

What a sad sight, lookin’ at my gas light

Southern comfort food, mashed potatoes, fried chicken,

I'm finna break this blunt down and burn me up one

To run and hide, now your pussies fried

But there's nothing else inside

Word of advise, don't feed your customers chicken fried mice,

Temperatures risesniggas blinded by my lyrical disguise

An eighth of grape ape hella joints to the head got my eyes all varsity red

Im way out of my head, i can't think anymore my brain i fried, it's dead

With a tear they try to tell me but i never listen

Southern comfort food, mashed potatoes, fried chicken,