This is a song about "Indian curry"

We get the bread and the crumbs, young money

Yo come get this destroyed for curry

I’m at dulles with luggage fly straight to the money

Call me a warrior, not because i like curry

Had too much curry but got lucky, i sullied the sponge equipped

But it was written in cursive for this king to exist

All my west indian niggas got me speaking creole

Worse than the others -- bill clinton, mr. bob dole

Y'all test like professors, you can get ahead

Watch your body turn indian red,

Open vagina: put ya legs behind ya head

Slice your neck until your face turn indian red,