This is a song about "Cooking drugs"

You say i'm in the kitchen.. cooking up shit to splinter creeps

As i stare at the ceiling fan, as a fan of these wicked streets

They behind bars like they was cooking amphetamine

I got a dollar and a dream, real niggas on my team

So i can write about my life of sina couple bottles of gin

Make you wanna hurl? me and you lets let our love unfurl, pulse is cooking

Or be real good at cooking

Get off a key like i can’t sing

My only purpose is to jerk it cause it has a curve

Sitting in the room, on the phone, cooking up orders

And get me some more drugs

Good kids make bad grown ups

I miss your cooking, and your one sided lectures

I'm through trial, no more smiles, for a couple years