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You dont know how to cook Video (MV)




Performed By: Cg Ready
Language: English
Length: 1:38
Written by: Bolivar Avila




Cg Ready - You dont know how to cook Lyrics




You don't know how to cook, you don't know how to f*ckin' rookie
When you was sellin' gas, I was stackin' up my cookies
I was still gettin' busy, even at the 12 booklet
When I walk up in the track, we can say, sookie, sookie

Ayy, I ball up with this BM, tossin' packs on the weekend
Get the word from a deacon, bag full, see a pecan
I was still testin' plays, when I hit it from the bag
Ain't nobody know shorty, till I put it on the mag

Charged up, then left, now the bitch want me back
Too late, got a bestie, big head in my lap
Switch on the G-Lock, that's an asthma attack
Put his face on the wall, like a plasma tank

Go to ATL with work, they say that my clean right
I'm an Escobar shaggin', strippin' grits for a bite
She act that I serve her aunt, I might whip your tongue bite
1.5 to every 3.5, ain't sure you both right

I got a schedule for the fitness, like I see tomorrow night
Smoke with me like dynamite, how I came up, I timed it right
I'm a one man band, 50-50 on the grams
Jay and Barton in the band, here I come, Maryland

You don't know how to cook, you a motherf*ckin' rookie
When you was sellin' gas, I was stackin' up my cookies
I was still gettin' busy, even at the 12 booklet
When I walk up in the track, we can say, sookie, sookie

Talk some pats on the weekend, get the word from a D game
Bag full, see a pecan, I be still touchin' plays
When I hit her from the back, ain't nobody know shorty
Till I put her on the mat
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You don't know how to cook, you don't know how to f*ckin' rookie
When you was sellin' gas, I was stackin' up my cookies
I was still gettin' busy, even at the 12 booklet
When I walk up in the track, we can say, sookie, sookie

Ayy, I ball up with this BM, tossin' packs on the weekend
Get the word from a deacon, bag full, see a pecan
I was still testin' plays, when I hit it from the bag
Ain't nobody know shorty, till I put it on the mag

Charged up, then left, now the bitch want me back
Too late, got a bestie, big head in my lap
Switch on the G-Lock, that's an asthma attack
Put his face on the wall, like a plasma tank

Go to ATL with work, they say that my clean right
I'm an Escobar shaggin', strippin' grits for a bite
She act that I serve her aunt, I might whip your tongue bite
1.5 to every 3.5, ain't sure you both right

I got a schedule for the fitness, like I see tomorrow night
Smoke with me like dynamite, how I came up, I timed it right
I'm a one man band, 50-50 on the grams
Jay and Barton in the band, here I come, Maryland

You don't know how to cook, you a motherf*ckin' rookie
When you was sellin' gas, I was stackin' up my cookies
I was still gettin' busy, even at the 12 booklet
When I walk up in the track, we can say, sookie, sookie

Talk some pats on the weekend, get the word from a D game
Bag full, see a pecan, I be still touchin' plays
When I hit her from the back, ain't nobody know shorty
Till I put her on the mat
[ Correct these Lyrics ]
Writer: Bolivar Avila
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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