Back down, before i cook you like rice.
Hey! what's your name? oh, that's nice
No matter what i cook i know the fucking recipe,
No such thing as sympathy, more money my remedy
You wonder how it feels to walk a mile inside tha shoes
Goin' ham in beef it's raw, i cook it up with twisted news,
And everything on tv just a figment of imagination
It cook up imagination to generations of our nation
Fed her acid now the duct tape quacks back at her
I'm the butcher, the cook and heart taker
Smother it with butter and cook it for my next of kin.
See, mel made a couple milli sellin’ jesus passion
More money that mean less sleep
We will cook you up and eat,
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