This is a song about "Wil fry"

Hook me up to a chair and watch as my brains fry,

Letter to the ghetto, hold your head high

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

Kill em all, fuck em all. hip-hop really is alive

I fry niggas come at me than you might get yours

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

See you gotta get high or die, cause even thugs cry

If you do then ima have to aim and fry

Or a sunday fry x4

Convertibles with turbo jets

I prefer your applause without a handout

That wil tell you staight and shame you out

Like a line full of 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,

I'm trynna beat up every beat until my feet at the top