This is a song about "Chef dylan"

Different chef, same pot bro, not guianese buddy

I fly a tailor and a private chef from sicily

Sb horror pack monsters under my bed

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

Crack dealer, master chef, i own the kitchen

I'm fed up, we gotta start teach the children

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

Different chef, same pot bro, not guianese buddy

So i just pray and hope god, take a light to myself

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

Ironin' you niggas now it's time to starch the shit

I won't say i won't eat it if you chef it

What the bloodclot, tommy frazier fuck yourself

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

But the chef won't let me me eat nothing

And now the present got you struggling