KFC

[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