This is a song about "Chef boyardi"

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

What the bloodclot, tommy frazier fuck yourself

Chopping threw lyrics like im a masked chef

My bitches ballin' to the maya moore's, yes

Different chef, same pot bro, not guianese buddy

A single mother with a problem child, daddy free

The best is that which i accept and nothing less

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

I fly a tailor and a private chef from sicily

Now hire about street schemes, and getting blood money

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

But don’t worry about it girl, just be yourself

But the chef won't let me me eat nothing

Like wu-tang, look how i do the thing

They say that karats help your vision

Crack dealer, master chef, i own the kitchen