This is a song about "Sriracha and eggs"

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

You let it slide, i hit home-runs, clean her dugout till i’m done

Told my old lady to make me eggs without warning

They wanna see a nigga lose but i’m destined to win

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

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

Or the fact when the money go up, it won’t stop

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

And more than confident

Grab the scissors and saws and

And kill yourself and your clique

The revolution will proceed

Mash up the 'tatoes whilst my bitch whisks the eggs

But i'd just rather 2-step, like my first steps

Ain't no eggs for the batter

Huh, i can't interpret her