Lyrics

[Produced by Mark Ronson] [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 All the way 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 your hot oil for about a half an hour You in your hot tub I'm looking at you salivatin' Dry you off I got your paper towel waitin' 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 what part of you I love best Your legs or your breast Mrs. Fried Chicken, you gonna be a nigga death Created by southern black women to serve massa' guest You gonna be a nigga death Mrs. Fried Chicken you was my addiction Dripping with high cholest- Like Greeks with his falafel, Italian with his to-mato pasta What 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'm inside Nothing I need more than a fish fry [Verse 2 - Almighty U-Sorcerer] You too good, I might commit crimes When you all heated up, your skin look delicious I'll eat you until it gets repetitious I picked the sexiest piece, no boneless ones Other bitches got the salmonella going on I love it when that man brings you for delivery Cause he don't get a piece of you and now he just in misery Could've ordered Chinese in take-out I could've went to that brand new steakhouse Could've went to that McDonalds that opened up on the east side But I want you, sexy baby, deep fried, make me cry You soaking in them juices and you got that seasoning Do I need any more reasoning? I turn my phone off, I take you from the hot tub to the dinner table We wild like horses in the stable When I get into those thighs, don't deny my rotary And maybe we put on some Rosemary They wanted me to stick to juvenile chickens But if she ain't thick, she one dem removable bitches You a main attraction, Mr. Sanders won't be relaxing Knowing that I'm with you in the next room getting satisfaction You're so high-grade, baby, you an A-plus I know you been cooking now you burning up my taste buds And you ain't no A-cup That C-cup, you sexy without the makeup Kentucky fried, I must be high After all that work, you my yummy prize And if I didn't have you, I'd die of starvation Cause even though there's other chickens, all their breasts on deflation