This aint a song its a warnin to brooke, hogan and david cook
I moved you up to hills, out the ills of the ghetto hood
Spittin heat like a toaster cook you pop tarts
All on the furniture with no regards
Check me i be jumping out the coupe, swagger through the roof
Got them bomb ass drugs cause i follow all the cook books
I'll touch slap her, dap her, plus clap her
But she's a good cook and supporter
She even said she can cook!
My bitches fuck me good
We will cook you up and eat,
No days off and i ain't gettin’ sleep
No matter what i cook i know the fucking recipe,
You got ben's arranged money, have a benz or range money
To quick, show 'em to tha cook, hearion' them sayin'
Dirty rotten nigger picked it from a cotton gin
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