I'm in the booth cooking up stew,
I got the sauce,
Foot mouth mouth foot
And I still come back on top,
You're in the booth cooking up books,
You get the loss,
Loot for a smooth fallout
Yet the L you still get to boast,
We in the hood lookin up spoons,
We got the pot,
Spoof of brain or poof of chain
You still get some food for thought.
The image is mine, nothing to do with the poem but fuck it, I'm way too hangovered to actually think of and look for an appropriate one.
PEACE!!
