This is a song about "Cook"

Fish flaying great cook and he ain't even gay

How i think about you every day

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

I stay with grandma, she always bitching about her carpet

Riding around without a fuck given

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

So i proposed that we cook her on a stove,

With this rap shit, you know i do the fucking most

And everything on tv just a figment of imagination

It cook up imagination to generations of our nation

Riding that big body, shorty be hitting the curb

Using shards to cook others from broken lyrics i shattered.

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

Not only with my hand, but with a black revolver

Two bad bitches in the back, they pretty everybody look

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