This is a song about "Chef rick"

We touch down in moscow and take flicks like click click

And i spit sick shit so quick like slick rick

Word rick, word man you heard, but don't get discouraged girl

Wait, i heard about you from that other nigga earl

Whips ain't shit but my kicks look sick

Not even like q-tip,big pun or slick rick

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

That sick set, tryna get my kickflips wet

That whiskey sour, taste like rick howard/

Nothing i'mma do is gon work

Swift-made switch blades made a big incision in him

Kiss my ass salad tossin,barking, on my rick rossin,

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

Now you probably wishing that you would have said yes

Different chef, same pot bro, not guianese buddy

Triple white ferrari yeah thats the easter bunny