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Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Organized Konfusion
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Lawrence Baskerville
Songwriter
Troy Donald Jamerson
Songwriter
Lyrics
Of all the things my momma used to cook, I liked chicken
You know that chicken I put in the refrigerator last night?
Well, I expect to find it when I get home or else
Damn, it really hurts my heart to remember these
(Remember these)
Days way back in the seventies
(Seventies)
The only AIDS you used to know was Kool-AIDS
Corn-bread, corn-rows and corn-br-AIDS
Pull up a chair, read a book like Dr. Seuss
Peel off the skin, eat all the meat
Nibble on the bone and then suck the goo
Man, if my mother was the Colonel, her chicken woulda sold
It even taste better the next day cold
Chick-chicken, chick-chick-chick-chicken
When I collect my thoughts, I recollect
I used to listen to my moms
(To my mommy)
Damn it, everyday
Boy, you better clean up your room
Before you go outside and play
Yo, Monch, you can remember
When we used to play skelly way back
Blastin' wax, side or tops, Prince don't play that
Uh, oh, it's six o'clock, I'm late for dinner
If my girl wasn't his girl, I was definitely in her
Got in them, print skirts
(Yo, you was feenin' for a chicken fix)
Ran in the kitchen
And put my finger in the cornbread mix
Mom yells, "Dinner's ready", 'cause she's the boss
All I needed was my ketchup and my hot sauce
And my cornbread, now I'm ready to dig in
Pick the meat off the bone and then I ate the skin
But I'll tell you what my mother would say
Somebody stole my piece of chicken
But I'll tell you what my mother would say
Somebody stole my piece of chicken
Round, round, one, three
(Up, up, two)
I'm fresh out of the batch and you can't catch me
Mrs. Mary Mac, all dressed in black
She's rather fat and she carries a bat
She's the nosiest lady on the block when it's hot
Cops get shot when we played SWAT
But no one never died though, we just cried
Only to laugh again when my moms made fried
Chicken barbecues in the summer was the move
Whoo, hah, hah, hah, hah, hah, Grand Groove
Was the jam Grandmaster Vic played in the park
Past the dark, I seen the spark, so did me, Troy and Mark
Went to the rib shack, ordered chicken and the collard
Greens but there's no money left in my wallet
But I kept fifty cents for my juice
(Word?)
Now we would go to Troy's house and get loose
(Uhh)
I'm just looking out of the window
(Window)
Watching the asphault grow slow
(Grow, slow)
My best friend was a G.I. Joe
Although he had bald spots in his afro
Play with the kids your own age
That's what they used to tell us
I got jealous when we couldn't run with the big fellas
Bullies on the block used to beat us
I was quick as a cat, in fact I was a cheetah
Especially when we played follow the leader
Little Suzy May Robinson used to play
Show and tell with my peter
I used to rock my British Walkers to church
After the choir sang, the preacher started to preach
So I had to search
For a pen and some paper to keep myself occupied
But the aroma from the kitchen came and sat by my side
And said, "Mmm, you know I smell good"
I said to myself, "Please, oh, please reverend
Now would you speed up the sermon so I can determine
Whether I'ma have peas or collars greens
With my chicken that I'm yearnin'"
Turnin' to the usher in the back, whispering
"Please keep the chicken monster from coming through
The crack of the door", later at the table
Moms poppped my hand until it was sore
'Cause I ate the chicken before
The preacher said grace, but I'm ready to go for self
But there's not one piece of chicken on the table left
(What happened to that wing man? Where that chicken go?)
Chick-chick-chick-chicken
(Where that chicken go?)
Chick-chick-chick-chicken, chick-chick-chick-chicken
Chick-chick-chick-chicken
You know that chicken I put in the refrigerator last night?
Well, I expect to find it when I get home, or else
But I'll tell you what my mother would say
"Somebody stole my piece of chicken"
I didn't take your chicken, pop
Just wait 'til I get home 'cause ain't no chicken left
(Hey, that's cool)
Miss Clarabell took the last piece of chicken
(That's cool)
Writer(s): 0, Troy Jamerson, Larry Baskerville
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