This is a song about "Cook"

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

And you believe when a rapper wan' be one

Back down, before i cook you like rice.

Because i see right through your disguise

Riding around with ms. reece and them

Now cook me a meal, gordon

We'll cook ya for lunch and serve you at red lobster,

And the games appeal to the struggling youth with no father

Bitches talk to me, and they send you niggas postcards

Spittin heat like a toaster cook you pop tarts

She got mad i leaned over, i'm nursing her

But she's a good cook and supporter

So in the mean time, keep it moving or accept that

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

The little engine that could, this little nigga is good

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