This is a song about "Cook"

And tell them bitches we real niggas is bout that

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

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

So i guess i’m good naira,yoruba love give em my love

Damn i’m no good, but damn it’s so good

Cook a verse send it out hardly a look

So both of our imaginations are creations of the fucking situation

It cook up imagination to generations of our nation

Spittin heat like a toaster cook you pop tarts

I got nice hands, niggas eat out my big palms

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

Deep down, i'm an emo fuckin' faggot that's depressed

We ain't buying cds, we striving to live

Back down, before i cook you like rice.

Dub a.l.e., still a son of a gun

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