| I need home, home cookin', yeah!
|
| I need home, home cookin', yeah!
|
| He said, a woman’s place
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| Is in the kitchen
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| But in the kitchen, you are a flop
|
| Them meals that you been fixin'
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| They ain’t nothin' but yesterday’s slop
|
| An' I like, your wiggly walk
|
| I like your baby talk, yeah!
|
| You’re neat, the way you look
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| But you ain’t nothin'
|
| If you can’t cook
|
| I need home, home cookin', yeah!
|
| I need home, home cookin', yeah!
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| Hot! |
| I sweat all day
|
| I rush back home, to see what you cookin'
|
| Your beans are burned
|
| You’ve ruined my place
|
| And in the mirror, I find you lookin'
|
| Now, I like sweet candied yams
|
| And I like homemade ham-hocks
|
| Instead of study, how you look
|
| You oughta study
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| Your mama’s cookbook
|
| If you want a soul man
|
| Get to rattlin', them pots and pans
|
| I need home, home cookin'
|
| I need home, home cookin'
|
| Yeah!
|
| Hot gravy
|
| That pot roast
|
| That pickled beets
|
| And sugared toast
|
| I like your wiggly walk, yeah!
|
| And I like your way a-talkin'
|
| And you look neat, the way you look
|
| But you ain’t nothin'
|
| If you can’t cook
|
| I need home, home cookin'
|
| I’m in the mood
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| For soul food
|
| I said, home, home cookin' |