This is a song about "Chef boyardi"

Like i went to sierra leone in a homecoming dress

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

Actions speak louder than words, let me try this shit, dead

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

Crack dealer, master chef, i own the kitchen

And last but not least please don't tell no one

Never will i ever utter never to myself

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

Triple white ferrari yeah thats the easter bunny

Different chef, same pot bro, not guianese buddy

Now you stuck up in my mothafucking basement all bloody

I fly a tailor and a private chef from sicily

Chopping threw lyrics like im a masked chef

The best is that which i accept and nothing less

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

While you fucking with mei'm a self-made millionaire!thug livin', out of prison