[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?
Back 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