This is a song about "Ratchet hoes haters chef curry ferarri flames"

Swung left, no breath, chef ahead, must be fed, kept pet.

I say i put it so deep now she a cone head

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

If i ain't get em yet, believe their name is on the short list

Dc, man over money

I'm brown and i like curry

Fuck your ratchet hoes, i kill the mic with spasmatic flows,

I'm chasing money, not the liquor, y'all ain't even close

Your temper tantrums are ratchet too pacifists to catch it

This for my niggas hustlin until they last minute