This is a song about "Fry fry freddie"

I can make the clouds jealous nigga i am that fly

Hook me up to a chair and watch as my brains fry,

Ya battling freddie the red 'n black sweated lumberjack.

I deserve a medal, lap 'em on every track

Tell the homies i'm in heaven and they ain't got hoods

I fry niggas come at me than you might get yours

Baby mothers quittin school, nigga now it's up to her

So type ur best n i'll fry ur set take a minute n hour

If critics say my rhyme's stink, i'll fry em til there's burnin smells

I'm the c.e.o. of diplomat records, i sign myself

And you ain't gettin' it, 'til you start payin' jewels

Freddie lips crimson and mistaken with the seagulls

If that, the rest of you niggas get lapped, i sit back

Wall street bankers' wallets get padded, remember freddie mac?