This is a song about "Cook"

This aint a song its a warnin to brooke, hogan and david cook

I’m picturing that body like a camera phone would

Cold, my style making my nose run

Now cook me a meal, gordon

Fetching my dick almost as quick as they cook and they clean dishes

See you later, cause baby i'm a player, and all i heard was

She couldn't really cook but that woman tried her best

I can only love you when you’re undressed

Cook up and run where i'm from, the south son,

Only fear death when you staring down a loaded gun

Lord, you're so pretty, lying in my arms

Spittin heat like a toaster cook you pop tarts

And there's little to be glad for

I'm the butcher, the cook and heart taker