This is a song about "Tori cook"

Never miss these things, see my game precise

Back down, before i cook you like rice.

If it's me that catch you, you're fried

We will cook you up and eat,

Everything i wanted never seem so close

So i proposed that we cook her on a stove,

Now cook me a meal, gordon

Cold world no blanket son

It ain't my place to say and i hear all that

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

I moved you up to hills, out the ills of the ghetto hood

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

Anyways give it up the capital the nation

To quick, show 'em to tha cook, hearion' them sayin'

Lord, you're so pretty, lying in my arms

Spittin heat like a toaster cook you pop tarts