This is a song about "Chef dylan"

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

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

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

Fuck me the monster said, somehow the monster's dead

That's g shit, i be bumping fiend shit

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

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

Like i went to sierra leone in a homecoming dress

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

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

Get off a key like i can’t sing

But the chef won't let me me eat nothing

Dub a.l.e., still a son of a gun

Crack dealer, master chef, i own the kitchen

Different chef, same pot bro, not guianese buddy

If we thinking success is only measured by your money