[Verse 1: Screaming thrash-metal male lead, thrash-metal, screaming] Saturday, seven, and the printer starts to spit Ninety tickets on the rail and the rail's about to split Saute station, eight burners and all of 'em high Butter in the pan and the smoke in my eye Chef on the pass calling tickets like a war Four scallops, two risotto, table six wants more Burned my wrist on the handle and I didn't even flinch Sixty covers in an hour and we're winning by an inch [Hook: Screaming thrash-metal male lead, thrash-metal, full scream] Heard, chef, fire it, plate it, send it out Ninety tickets on the rail and a critic in the house Burnt hands, burnt pans, burnt the whole night through Heard, chef, heard, chef, table nine is due [Verse 2: Screaming thrash-metal male lead, thrash-metal, faster] Server leans in, says the critic's at nine Gray coat, little notebook, didn't order any wine Ordered the scallops and the scallops are mine Ninety seconds on a side is the rule, every time Then the rail goes crazy and the printer won't quit Turn around to the pan and the pan's in a fit Black on the bottom, last six in the box No time to refire and I'm racing the clock Chef says start again, I say chef, there's nothing to start So I char 'em all the way and I plate it like art Brown butter on the black and a lemon on the side Call it blackened, send it out, and I'm sweating with pride [Hook: Screaming thrash-metal male lead, thrash-metal, full scream] Heard, chef, fire it, plate it, send it out Ninety tickets on the rail and a critic in the house Burnt hands, burnt pans, burnt the whole night through Heard, chef, heard, chef, table nine is due [Bridge: Screaming thrash-metal male lead, ticket-rail shriek, the whole rail at full speed instead of a solo] Table four, two strip, medium rare, no sauce Table six, three risotto, and a salmon on the cross Table eight, duck breast, pink in the middle, boss Table nine, scallops, blackened, and we take no loss All day, all day, ninety tickets on the line All day, all day, and the pans are doing fine [Verse 3: Screaming thrash-metal male lead, thrash-metal, victory scream] Tuesday morning and the paper's taped up on the pass Chef reads it out loud through his little reading glass Best plate of the year, it's the blackened scallop dish Chef looks at me like he caught a talking fish Now it's on the menu, printed right on the card Every night I burn 'em on purpose and I burn 'em hard Eight burners screaming and the smoke alarm sings Heard, chef, heard, I'm the king of burnt things [Final Hook: Screaming thrash-metal male lead, thrash-metal, full scream] Heard, chef, fire it, plate it, send it out Ninety tickets on the rail and a critic in the house Burnt hands, burnt pans, burnt the whole night through Heard, chef, heard, chef, table nine is due [End]
