Uh, Lord, Lord, y'all, what I'm gon' do? Uh, Lord, Lord, y'all, shit is all true Mmm, fried chicken, fly vixen, give me heart disease but need you in my kitchen You a bird but you ain't a key, got wings but you can't fly away from me Driving in your bucket seats all the way from Kentucky to fuck with me Look what you done to me, was number one to me After you shower, you in your gold metal flower Then you rub your hot oil for about a half an hour You in your hot tub, I'm looking at your salivating Dry you off, I got your paper towel waiting Lay you down cause you're red hot Louisiana style, you make my head rot Then I flop to the bed then plop When we done I need rest Don't know what part of you I love best Your legs or your breasts Mrs. Fried Chicken, you gon' be a nigga deaf Created by southern black women to serve massive guests You gon' be a nigga deaf Mrs. Fried Chicken, you was my addiction Dripping with high cholest Like Greeks with it's falafel, Italian with it's tomato pasta Where roti is to a rasta Trapping me You and your friend mac and cheese, candy and collard greens But you knocking me to my knees, it's killing me when I'm inside Nothing I need more than a fish fry Shit, it tastes good, I can't lie It's like you walking out the tennis saloon When I pull you out the oven from baking, I got you on my mind Rubbing that suntan lotion all up over your body So amazing how you sparkle when I glaze you, swine Hey, my pretty ham hock It's so feminine the way you submitted it How you gave me power To massage your meat and shower you with lemon water Marinate you and season and differ you and chowder Baby, it's like you at the spa The way you gently lay in the pan While enjoying your buttermilk treatment I sit and watch the grease sizzle bubbling on your skin Despite the funny fragrance, still I lick my finger frequent In any event, I'm reflecting on all the signs that I got Saying that I shouldn't fuck with you But the way that you would taste made you hard to resist When I put my mouth on you, but that's another issue Butterflies up in my stomach when I laid eyes on you Or was it infection manifesting? Confused over the feeling, impatiently eating You chiquita worm chewing on the wall of my intestine I'ma eat you till there's nothing left Till my very last breath You gon' be a nigga death Despite I prepare it the best And specialize in cooking swine as a chef You gon' be a nigga death Who cares if the swine's mixed with rat, cat, and dog combined Yes, I'ma eat this shit to death Ain't that some shit? I'ma eat some shit until what I'm eating kills me And I choose to do that Why? Cause that's just what niggas do www.LRCgenerator.com