This is a song about "Kitchen bowls"

But i get the dough, shit i might splurge on one

Crack dealer, master chef, i own the kitchen

This meeting just begun, nigga i'm satan's son

I left him in the room, proceeded to the kitchen.

I smoke bowls and ball but still hair in curls,

Where they cherish gangsters and not teachers

Man i swear she's bad and she knows

Since third grade i been packin bowls

So i cure that tragedy by rhyming after bowls

Rappin' heat, you can fall defeat if you don't pay ya tolls

And not in the kitchen

Tryna find the one

To cause gruesome scenes, killed the cat in the kitchen.

My talent should take me places i've never been

Cause everythang gonna be alright

Smokin bowls out of bongs and sniffin lines of white