[NaS] Uh, lawd lawd Jah What I'm gonna do? (What I'm gonna do?) Uh, shhh, lawd lawd Jah Hahaha 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 ki Got wings but you can't fly away from me Driving in your bucket seats From Kentucky To fuck with me Look what you done to me Was number one to me! After you shower You and your gold medal flour Then you rub on with hot oil for half an hour You in your hot tub, I'm looking at you 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 flock To the bed then, "Plop" When we done, I need rest Don't know a part of you that I love best Your legs or your breast Misses Fried Chicken, you gon' be a nigga death Created by southern black women To serve massa, guest You gon' be a nigga death Misses Fried Chicken You was my addiction Dripping with cholest' Like Greeks with his felafel Or Italians with his to-mato Pasta Or roti is to a Rasta
Trapping me You and your friend mac and cheese Candy yams, collard greens But you knocking me to my knees It's killing me when I miss, ah Nothing I need more than a fish fry
[Busta Rhymes] Shit, It taste good, I can't lie It's like you're walking out a tanning saloon When I pull you out the oven, from baking I got you on my mind Rubbing that sun tan lotion all up over your body So amazing, how you sparkle when I glaze you swine Hey, my pretty hand hot, it's so feminine The way you submitting And how you gave me power To massaging me to shower You with lemon water Marinate you with season you dipping you in chowder Baby It's like you at the spa The way you gently Lay in the pan While you enjoying you butter milk 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 saying that I got I shouldn't fuck with you But the way you taste made it hard to resist when I put my mouth on you But that's another issue But it FLIES up in my stomach when I laid EYES on you Was it infection manifesting? Confused over the feeling impatiently eating you Intestinal worm chewing on the walls of my intestine I'ma eat you until there's nothing left Til my very last breath You gon be a nigga death Despite your good appearance Cooking swine as a chef You gon be a nigga death Who cares if the swine Is mixed with rat, cat, and dog combined? Yes, I eat the 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
Songwriters: Smith, Trevor / Movshon, Nicholas Anthony / Jones, Nasir / Mann, Bosco / Brenneck, Thomas R / Sugarman, Neal Andrew / Stribling, Franklin Delano / Steinweiss, Homer / Guy, David / Axelrod, Victor / Ronson, Mark / Hendrickson Smith, Ian Francis