This is a song about "Cook"

Fistful of wood, twisted for the good

She even said she can cook!

What we gotta do to survive

Back down, before i cook you like rice.

I'm the butcher, the cook and heart taker

I rush to tend her, talked as i touch her

That's words to my mama, since i wasn't a starter

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

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

My talent should take me places i've never been

Like that bron-bron? i had that long time ago

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

Stir the beef up in a pot, it's hot, cook it up and sell it,

Then i'm bustin' like an uzi when i'm thru with that shit

Spittin heat like a toaster cook you pop tarts

T.i. literally wanted to shoot up the charts