This is a song about "Chef boyardi"

Swung left, no breath, chef ahead, must be fed, kept pet.

For that living large, but mama i ain't done yet

Different chef, same pot bro, not guianese buddy

But if so, i'll take the scorn, indeed happily

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

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

Wish you was around now to see what i've become see

I fly a tailor and a private chef from sicily

Body holy water blessed, i'm feeling the stress

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

Crack dealer, master chef, i own the kitchen

My name's kingpin slim and i'mma son of a gun

Frightening, so fucking frightening

But the chef won't let me me eat nothing

Every body a chef,it's a stretching mission in your nana's second kitchen

I'm grand theft auto, racketeering, larceny, conspiracy, murder one