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[Nas] Hmm... 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 metal flour Then you rub your hot oil for about a 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 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 hot 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
[Busta Rhymes] Shit it taste good I can't lie It's like you're walking out the 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 submitted and how you gave me power To massaging me to shower you with lemon water Marinate you with seasoning and dipping you in chowder Baby it's like you at the spa the way you gently lay in the pan While enjoying your 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 That I got saying that I shouldn't fuck with you But the way you that you would taste made you 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 Or was it infection manifesting Confused over the feeling, impatiently eating you Trichina worm chewing on the wall of my intestine I'm a eat you until there's nothing left Until my very last breath, you gonna be a nigga death Despite I prepare it the best specialize in cooking swine as a chef You gonna be a nigga death Who cares if the swine is mixed with rat, cat and dog combined Yes, I'm a eat the shit to death
Ain't that some shit I'm a eat some shit until what I'm eating kills me And I choose to do that, why? 'Cause that's just what niggaz do
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The Fried Chicken (ft. Nas) lyrics by Busta Rhymes is copyrighted and eLyrics.net is featuring all 