This is a song about "Cook"

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

And if my mother answer, i'll ask her

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

So next time i come, i'll bring you one

Car seats got screens in them

Now cook me a meal, gordon

But she's a good cook and supporter

Of impactful things one can ask for

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

I was born back, wolf pack, nigga fuck that

It cook up imagination to generations of our nation

So both of our imaginations are creations of the fucking situation

No matter what i cook i know the fucking recipe,

Wish you was around now to see what i've become see

She even said she can cook!

She got that good good