[Intro] He wears a cravat... He flambés his eggs... And I just watched Mephala lick syrup off a keg. [Verse 1] Oh he’s got velvet ropes and a soufflé torch, And imported plates on his marble porch. "Reservations only," he says with flair, But his pizza’s thin as dragon’s hair! He talks balsamic like it’s sacred wine, But I’ve seen raccoons with a better brine. You say “Sal’s a chef”? I say Sal’s a sham! He thinks marinara’s worth a traffic jam! [Pre-Chorus] You call that risotto? I call that glue. You garnish lies, while I deep-fry truth! [Chorus] YOU POMPOUS PAAAARMESAN ASS! Your truffle oil dreams can kiss my grits! You think you’re haute, but you’re just not, And your breadsticks taste like dragon pits! YOU POMPOUS PAAAARMESAN ASS! Your ravioli’s got no soul! While Ossir whips cream in leather chaps, You’re dustin’ thyme on a dinner roll! [Verse 2] He’s got string quartets for his dining crowd, While Mephala moans into a crowd that’s loud. He plays smooth jazz with a pan flute solo, But my band’s just two roosters and a cowbell YOLO. He’s pairing pinot with duck confit, I’m pairing pancakes with a public pee. His menu’s French, his ego’s worse, I wipe with his napkins and I don’t rehearse! [Bridge] You think a soufflé makes you superior? I served a BLT on a live pig once. It changed lives. [Final Chorus] YOU POMPOUS PAAAARMESAN ASS!! Your basil’s fake, your staff’s uptight! I serve burgers with a side of kink, And my chickens fight at midnight! SO STUFF YOUR CANNELLONI WITH PRIDE! But your crème brûlée’s a fkn crime! You’ll never out-cook my farm of sin— Cause at MacDaddys... WE DEEP FRY TIME! [Outro] Baw-KAAAAAAW, bitch!!!
