This is a song about "Cook"

Her body's been paranormal since buying that pair of titties, look

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

Deliver the bomb shit from the east to west

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

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

Rolling in more green than a hole in one

You wear a shirt, my records sell yes sir

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

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

Got her sayin' you be killin' that shit

I'm tired of mcdonalds, want a chick that cook chicano

And name another new nigga wit a sicker twitter follow