This is a song about "Stale bread"

Gotta work now,sweat,and hustle for the bread

So im like fuck it, im out get on your head

Welcome to hell's plot, the spot rots, like stale crops

Left chicago with good money for 5 drops

You could say i'm friends with fred

Im the best thing since sliced bread,

Who didn't really care to see, or give a damn if she

I stay making bread, i married sarah lee

They giving niggas letters here and they ain't sending mail

Man your lyrics are so stale, your delivery is frail,

I would sleep blinded from fright, while dad was makin' some bread

Or will they kill me while i'm sleepin, two to the head

I would sleep blinded from fright, while dad was makin' some bread

Hit it then i quit it ‘fore she even made the bed