This is a song about "Cook"

Bitches talk to me, and they send you niggas postcards

Spittin heat like a toaster cook you pop tarts

To quick, show 'em to tha cook, hearion' them sayin'

That's because thats these compton streets was built not to win

Just to go to liv on a sunday

Fish flaying great cook and he ain't even gay

Goin' ham in beef it's raw, i cook it up with twisted news,

Rollin' down the street, smokin' indo, sippin' on gin and juice

I'm the butcher, the cook and heart taker

Brandun deshay, hodgy beats, ace the creator

You claim you a thug crook a drug cook you ain't it

Never use the word ours i'm living in the minute

Look, i lost my nigga over nothing though

I'm looking for a girl to wash, cook, clean and sew