This is a song about "Cook"

Box logo on my muthafuckin' chest

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

It cook up imagination to generations of our nation

So both of our imaginations are creations of the fucking situation

Everything i wanted never seem so close

So i proposed that we cook her on a stove,

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

Hey, who dat, who dat? that nigga you been waiting for

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

Forreal i'm aggravated that gon' abandon this shit

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

So i, i stack paper and keep it ghetto

I'm the butcher, the cook and heart taker

Brandun deshay, hodgy beats, ace the creator

I wear green hats because i'm fortunately lucky

No matter what i cook i know the fucking recipe,