This is a song about "Fried rice"

Fighting with my weak hand

You fried under that heated lamp,

I don't wanna be fried or baked

Cause i’m going out with a fist raised

Reach for the door, get your access denied

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

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

No top on mine, niggas gonna hate, man fuck them guys

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

A favorite of my homies when we floss on our enemies

Look, the illest bitch alive, reallest bitch alive

Id rather be a man, satisfied by a grain of rice

Was he stressing you, wasn’t fucking you right

To run and hide, now your pussies fried

What we gotta do to survive

I catch that touchdown like jerry rice