The sexiest woman I e’er saw
Could cook just like my great-grandma.
Her biscuits were so flaky and round
That I ate butter by the pound.
Her steaks, pork chops, gravy, collard greens,
Pot roasts, pies, cobblers, lima beans,
Mashed potatoes, field peas, and cornbread
Are worth slapping yore momma dead
Over if she reached for the last bite.
A good supper’s heaven at night.
Since I knew that there’d be no neglect,
This culinarily perfect
Gal easily won my stomach’s love.
It’s a shame I can just dream of
Finding a young woman with such skills—
Whose cooking neither maims nor kills.
Show me a woman my age who cooks
And frets not over plastic looks.
As I thought, she’s nowhere to be found,
And so true love won’t be around.
High and vain grapes surely lose the fox;
Love’s recipe is not on a box.
Such savages can’t access the heart;
Thus marriage is doomed from the start,
Since the stomach is the route to take
If a man’s love you wish to wake.