This is a song about "Sriracha and eggs"

Hot as some sriracha, you're fly as a peacock

Couple of foreign cars that i ride, no top

Got all these niggas approaching their mixtapes different

And my tongue stay flicking, over clits and fucking lips and

Say bye bye to her

Ain't no eggs for the batter

And a fridge and some broccoli

I believe in honesty

And that's a better reason to for me to take advantage with sex

Hey baster stop battling me (carl c) your master, your spiting some eggs

While we suffer in summer our supper is eggs

Thats my surroundings in compton, have common sense

Coldest clothes, bankrolls and hoes, and o's and o's, alone and cold,

She keep her eyes open and her fucking mouth closed

Fuck it moron, snorting oxycontin, wearing cotton

Lil money i pay my own bills. shut ya eggs up for they rotten