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cooking - mr. porter lyrics

[intro: mr porter]
(cooking!) hey! (cooking!) hey!
(cooking!) hey! (cooking!) hey!

[hook: mr. porter]
i said, “made niggas, got maids, serving broads on trays”
me and my niggas got bars, we (cooking!) barbecue on fire, we (cooking!)
me and my niggas got bars, we (cooking!) me and my niggas got bars, we (cooking!)
me and my niggas got bars, we (cooking!) me and my niggas got bars, we (cooking!)

[verse 1: mr. porter]
yup, yup, yeah, yeah yeah, yeah!
i-i-i showed ya how to stunt (yeah!), i turned you into a pimp (yeah!?)
my whole hood here, it’s been a good year, my bank account’s on blimp!
your girl said, she want my c-ck, i told you she ain’t talkin’ ‘about no shrimp
nigga, everything in my notebook dope, it’s like i’m writing on hemp
out of this world, comes a good ho, said she won’t gag, bet she won’t choke
call me anything, but don’t call me broke, i’ll rock him b-tch, “i ain’t no joke”
sheeeeeit, don’t believe? just forget it, you’re so pathetic, yes i said it
equifax nigga, check your credit, or ask doc. dre, he can settle it
the way i fold your weed, i been dope, my kinfolk, is like en’ vogue
never get the feeling that i invoke, i’m coming for mine, plus tenfold
big bill bars, got a nigga sitting pretty, ms. info and if you don’t like [i’mma pity?]
you ain’t gotta wonder, what i’m doing in your city, [?], or spread your titties
double d’s? (yeah!) double these, man go, you don’t want no trouble please
look, every time you rap? – tumbleweed, look, every time i rap? one of these
ladies, shoot they shot, they show me what they think i’m missing
shit, if you can’t stand the heat, then get the hell up out my kitchen!
(awgh!) cause i’m cooking!

[bridge: mr. porter]
i give the people more than (what they asking for)
me and my niggas (got cash to blow)
why i gotta be (the best rapper fo’?)
when my whole team rap better than yours

[verse 2: royce da 5’9″]
i’mma take that as a compliment (yeah!?) i’m the new rapper apocalypse (yeah!)
this is the end of the world as you know it, attack and hip-hop is the populace
b-tches is twerkin’ it, poppin’ it, guns in the video not as the prop
cause right after they shoot, me i’m poppin’ it (pop-pop-pop!), i’m not irrelevant
or relevant, i’m more like reverend, even when they rebuke me, i’m profiting
i may mislead to you think that i don’t roll differently like this hoopty, i’m hopping in
po-po behind me, i already made up my mind, i won’t go for no homi’
therefore, anything that you could put on paper, my lawyers will take and twist into origami
whip on ashantis, i just broke up with the chick of your dreams
so now to me she a ho, now to me though i wish her well, she’s someone i wouldn’t wish on nobody
trapping to me and, trapping to you, is two different things, i’m from the era of crack in the shoe and
hoping your mama don’t vacuum, selling nic’s old school like patrick ewing
anybody ask what you doing, when you got the shotty on you
telling that you down to catch a body, like you’re trafficking humans
with the outlook of a chef, looking at the fire too long

[bridge: mr. porter]
i give the people more than (what they asking for)
me and my niggas (got cash to blow)
why i gotta be (the best rapper fo’?)
when my whole team rap better than yours

[verse 3: pharaoahe monch]
laughing in the background, when i’m asking them, take ten paces, then i’m firing –
backwards with a mac-10, in the back of they head, and they grow a windmill and a backspin
(go!) plus a nigga got stars in his iris, and they got more bars than the irish
in the ireland, with the irish accent, never slip, i will never lose traction
speak the truth, or bring the light, reach and touchin’ the youth, like mike jackson!
(aaaaaaaaaagh!) psycho wanna chase, for the late night action –
standing ovations, when the hook stand up, yeah, they might start clapping
and i still got a backpack, but i catch stacks, stacks –
like the industry whore, of tracks that i rap on fast, with a mute and closed captions
i’mma spit it with a p-ssion, but i got a little itty bitty question, i’m asking
would you find it easier to p-ss an exam, if you were created in a test tube?
do crips watch true blood? do bloods fly jet blue?
fuck it, drop it, pop it, shake it, like a genie in a bottle
lap dance, gimme that laptop, get it? we call that, serato

- mr porter lyrics

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