Chorus
(x2)
I sell chickens
They finger lickin
Mash potatoes, french fries
And they came with a biscuit
Trap house a drive thru
Dying to serve you
Ready to place your order or do you need a menuVerse 1
Culinary Art School dying to serve you
In the kitchen cookin but this aint no damn school
Aprons and beat up
Pyrex and heat up
Glass pot shawty
I don't cook in no beaker
Last time i did my shit like a speaker
I lost my mind and picked up on reefer
Right hand kept turnin
Money was earnin
Thousand blunt shawty so the kush we burnin
I buy the jewelry
Heads was turnin
40 in my pants like Al Bundy
Bottom of the valley yea had me bunkin
Narcs was takin pictures but the J's kept comin
Mash potatoes, french fries and biscuit one hundred
Dope game gravy kept me countin the moneyChorus x2Verse 2
I sell chickens
I make biscuits
30 rack shawty come and get you a ticket
Mine one hundred
I dont do false business
Ice hockey chest but I don't kick it
I'm trap gifted
I'm gone get it
In my trap house got pounds of midget
White miley cyrus
Right by the fridgie
Scale and soda you can really get it
Ready to place your order like Mrs Winner
Pull around drive way serve you through a window
2010 dawg man i had that grey though
Swing the doors wit 40 cals come meet your grey dough
Down to stretch a nigga like his name is Play-Dough
32 E-N-T aint playin no game hoe
Stackin this money
Money stack like Legos
If it was some chips you could call me Pringles
I could sell a dime throw a stripper the singles
Orange and black chain lookin like the Bengals
When my car pass by all the kids holla bingo
Ball up in the clubs man the hoes on my penis
With they mouths open
Like they drinkin semen
Her phone keep beatin so i keep eatin
Late night this hoe keep creepin
He kept callin
She actin sleepy