This is a song about "Fry"

If you see us in the club, we'll be actin' real nice

You can cut me up fry my ass like bacon i'll still survive

Die motherfuckin die, hope yo' ass fry, don't ask why

If you do then ima have to aim and fry

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

You know me, cool breeze, a nigga high

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

I fry niggas come at me than you might get yours

I read about napoleon hill and try to know god

My j-o-b to roast or fry this age old beef till the mic is h-o-t,

You feel it from your head to your toes

Fry them up like potatoes

Nigga with too much to say, you might make a fool of yourself

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