This is a song about "Cook"

By the little camera thing on the fuckin' mac book

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

You just servin yourself, go pull up to pump three

No matter what i cook i know the fucking recipe,

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

It cook up imagination to generations of our nation

I'm the mouth of the district, nobody work harder

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

And they'll forever out ya, that's why you always quiet

They knee deep in today, ain’t too fond of tomorrow

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