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    "Fried Chicken" Lyrics

    feat. Busta Rhymes

    track 11
    Untitled [2008]
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    [Intro: NaS]

    Uh, lawd lawd Jah
    What I'm gonna do? (What I'm gonna do?)
    Uh, shhh, lawd lawd Jah
    Shit is all true

    [Verse 1: NaS]

    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 f**k 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
    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

    [Verse 2: 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
    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 f**k 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

    [Outro: Busta Rhymes]

    Ain't that some shit?
    I'ma eat some shit
    Until what I'm eating KILLS ME!

    And I choose to do that
    Cause that's just what niggas do
    • submitted on July 16th, 2008
    • written by Mark Ronson, Nasir Jones, Trevor Smith, Victor Axelrod, Neal Sugarman, Homer Steinweiss, Franklin Stribling, Thomas Brenneck, Ian Hendrickson-Smith, David Guy, Nick Movshon, Bosco Mann
    • copyright with Lyrics © Emi Music Publishing, Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd., Universal Music Publishing Group

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