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[Intro/Chorus: x2] Chicken, chick-chick-chick-chicken Huh, c'mon! C'mon! Chicken, chick-chick-chick-chicken Huh! C'mon! HUH! C'mon! [Pharoahe Monch:] Watch the rhyme flip, to the rhythm that's sultry Just because I wrote a dope, rhyme about poetry I bring, axis to the past in seventies (yeah) Kiss my ass if you don't wanna remember these days of the chicken wing, leg and kiss it Mother was a recipe genius, and wizard on the grill Cookin chickity-chick-chick-chick chicken Slickin greasy made easy bickin Check the Pro-Keds, with the stripes; mo girls got a dark blue dungarees Lee with the bell-bottoms Uh (UH!) c'mon, Prince Po' I flow C'mon, uh (UH!) c'mon, Prince Po' I flow C'mon, uh (UH!) c'mon, Prince Po' I flow C'mon, uh (UH!) c'mon, Prince Po' I flow C'mon, uh (UH!) c'mon, Prince Po' I flow C'mon, uh (UH!) c'mon! Uh, C'MON! [Prince Poetry:] Monch, remember, we used to play skelly? Letras de cancionesBack in the days, our favorite snack was peanut butter and jelly Kelly had a new box, sportin new jocks with white TUBE SOCKS, run 'em over rooftops, cops buckshot, and scare us off at bus stops, cause we threw ROCKS When the sun sets, then I jet, I'll scuffle in a hurry, cause moms made curry chicken, chicken, chick-chick-chicken Screamin at me, cause I'm constantly lickin the BONE Even though the food's cold I love it when the chicken got, what shoes got! (sole/soul) [Chorus:] Chicken, chick-chick-chick-chicken Mmm, c'mon! Uhh, c'mon! Chicken, chick-chick-chick-chicken Mmm, c'mon! HA, c'mon! [Pharoahe Monch:] My mother and your mother was ?singin? out the clothes (clothes) My mother jack, you mother and the grill What color blood came out?.. RED But it's not a red alert 'Cause if I was a kid again, I'll push you in the dirt South to the S-I, D to the E Fresh out of the batch and you can't catch me (nope) Mrs. Mary Mac, all dressed in black She's, rather fat, and she, carries a Louisville Slugger Now I ask you, who's gonna mug her? Her daughter was dope back in the days I really dug her (Monch, you {?} her?) Mm-hmm (Monch, you {?} her?} Yep [Prince Poetry:] Barbecues in the summer was the mood (WHOO) Ha-ha-ha-ha, THAT'S THE JOINT GMC was the park technician Shiny black Bemas, pull up to listen I wasn't though on the mic, but I didn't care I had the skills of the poet (and a) the strength of a polar Kicked your mom's butt, because she stole the laaaast, piece The evidence was there because she saved the grease [Chorus: w/ adlibs and instrumental until fade] From Letras Mania