This is a song about "Chef and cooking"

I fly a tailor and a private chef from sicily

Funny how money, chains and whips make me feel free

Bun b, i’m underground king

Or be real good at cooking

Was thrown into my closet, to make room for the chef.

Because it's hard trying to pay the bills when you're by yourself

You say i'm in the kitchen.. cooking up shit to splinter creeps

As i stare at the ceiling fan, as a fan of these wicked streets

But if a nigga catch a nut bet he feel different

Misogyny and homophobia, guns and crimes and,

It's ironic cause i always hear you talking about one

You cooking for angels, always a legend, rockin heaven

I keep it crackin like denny's eggs, cuz im the chef,

I’m at the limit where i be amazing myself

I hear you callin' me to come back, i'm a sucka for love

I'm spending hours in the kitchen cooking up carols