This is a song about "Cook"

I got a thousand bitches, i'm not too good with vows

Look how we going to get out of this cook house

I’m throwing hundreds at kod, a little paper

I'm the butcher, the cook and heart taker

I ain't just rapping, i can make it happen

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

As: other plans got in the way

Fish flaying great cook and he ain't even gay

It cook up imagination to generations of our nation

So i can write about my life of sina couple bottles of gin

Got them bomb ass drugs cause i follow all the cook books

Check me i be jumping out the coupe, swagger through the roof

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

I guess that’s why all of these niggas get bent