This is a song about "Wil fry"

If critics say my rhyme's stink, i'll fry em til there's burnin smells

Fall in love with defeat, throw my endeavors on the shelf

And you are not around like black fathers

I wil make you suffer with my laughing curse...

Big money, i’m talking bad hoes

Fry them up like potatoes

My j-o-b to roast or fry this age old beef till the mic is h-o-t,

Get a piece of pussy then take my niggas to shop

And you can't even blink without niggas testing your life

You can cut me up fry my ass like bacon i'll still survive

Tell the homies i'm in heaven and they ain't got hoods

I fry niggas come at me than you might get yours

That wil tell you staight and shame you out

In her defense she a part of the crowd