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Song Parodies -> "Fry Pan"
Original Song Title:
"I Can"
Original Performer:
Nas
Parody Song Title:
"Fry Pan"
Parody Written by:
Nib Oswald
The Lyrics
The failed endeavours of the Sensitive New Age Guy in the kitchen...
My broke fry pan.
(Quite gross, my man.)
It's got a lotta grease.
(Which bubbles grottily.)
As I cook lard, it spits.
(Yeah my wok's just the pits.)
Food prepared quite scungily.
(But who cares, I'm hungry!)
My broke fry pan.
(Quite gross, my man.)
It's got a lotta grease.
(Which bubbles grottily.)
As I cook lard, it spits.
(Yeah my wok's just the pits.)
Food prepared quite scungily.
(But who cares, I'm hungry!)
...re ...re-heat the oil. Sizzle, pop!
I can make anyone wanna hurl and cough their guts.
Baked artichoke, pumpkin, flavoured with saffron.
The oven is steaming and caked in blackness.
Yikes! I'll get some water to extinguish the fire.
Meals are very pitful. Evening nibbles are dire.
Stinging tongues, straining lungs, cuts and hunger lesions,
Munching is un-pleasin'. Can't do lunch Indonesian.
OK. Kitchen just stocked barley and cloves.
Gotta try again, I'll cook duck on the stove.
Open the fowl, give the recess a tug, maple-glaze the breast.
Turn my back... an explosion of flesh.
What keeps happening to soups, steaks and sour wings?
Cuz I'll flame grill a rump and the plate will singe.
I just wanna serve a guest like a pro knows how.
But this pan is a terror when baking now.
My broke fry pan.
(Quite gross, my man.)
It's got a lotta grease.
(Which bubbles grottily.)
As I cook lard, it spits.
(Yeah my wok's just the pits.)
Food prepared quite scungily.
(But who cares, I'm hungry!)
My broke fry pan.
(Quite gross, my man.)
It's got a lotta grease.
(Which bubbles grottily.)
As I cook lard, it spits.
(Yeah my wok's just the pits.)
Food prepared quite scungily.
(But who cares, I'm hungry!)
...ri ...rinse off and peel, rinse it again.
Switch on the home-cooking shows on Channel 10.
Bough some hot videos like 'Stew with Jamie.'
Such beaut recipes. Stuff them all up, my cakes O.D.
Awful once I get a pan, this fat frier.
Ruined roasts and gravy are hopeless ventures.
Endeavour to have fried a mackerel by Wednesday.
Bakers all chacchinate, I'm a travesty.
Smouldering dessert. Is it healthwise, charcoal?
The kitchen's reeking of old filth and mould.
Gunk flows, food scraps oozing: butter, alcohol
The sink is rife with old trout, turkey beaks and eyes.
A slow learner, cannot bake or cook, steam or dice.
Bag a take-out chicken and a pizza each damn night.
Smart boy burns again, can't do the easiest dish.
If you're alive after my rice, then pray in thankness.
My broke fry pan.
(Quite gross, my man.)
It's got a lotta grease.
(Which bubbles grottily.)
As I cook lard, it spits.
(Yeah my wok's just the pits.)
Food prepared quite scungily.
(But who cares, I'm hungry!)
My broke fry pan.
(Quite gross, my man.)
It's got a lotta grease.
(Which bubbles grottily.)
As I cook lard, it spits.
(Yeah my wok's just the pits.)
Food prepared quite scungily.
(But who cares, I'm hungry!)
...ri ...rigorous flames will hiss on me.
Soon extinguishing all these torched mung beans.
Like a campfire of paprika-filled slush.
Bream f***ed, too. Man, every plate's empty- can't cook!
I'm burning black peaches in pots, leeks are foamin'.
Braisin' carrots? A grievous omen.
All the milk's curdled, the honey has gone strange.
Funny after-tang of sourness, this meringue.
I'm causing misery for nieghbours.
I burned the trout and all. They're feasting on extra-rare bacon.
Afterwards, their stomachs throb, achin'.
Savory was runny because my pan bakes like crazy.
Each of my new plates get massacred within days, see.
I cannot cook, body count is now past eighty.
Carve up a roast, spray my clothes with pas-tr-y.
Steel clothes when I bake for three.
If the fruitcake folds, the soup explodes,
I'll turn back to Chinese yet again, suppose.
My pots and pans you gave to me? Rank with holes
Eat more, burn more. Take-out schmoe.
Battered kitchen? World War sink?
Gotta get another pan, this one stinks.
Girlfriend gives in and says she'll do cooking?
Oh thank your darling, you're my queen!
My broke fry pan.
(Quite gross, my man.)
It's got a lotta grease.
(Which bubbles grottily.)
As I cook lard, it spits.
(Yeah my wok's just the pits.)
Food prepared quite scungily.
(But who cares, I'm hungry!)
My broke fry pan.
(Quite gross, my man.)
It's got a lotta grease.
(Which bubbles grottily.)
As I cook lard, it spits.
(Yeah my wok's just the pits.)
Food prepared quite scungily.
(But who cares, I'm hungry!)
Flavour's turmeric, darl.
Flavou'rs turmeric, darl.
Flavour's turmeric, darl.
He consumes it.
(Quite gross, my man.)
It's got a lotta grease.
(Which bubbles grottily.)
As I cook lard, it spits.
(Yeah my wok's just the pits.)
Food prepared quite scungily.
(But who cares, I'm hungry!)
My broke fry pan.
(Quite gross, my man.)
It's got a lotta grease.
(Which bubbles grottily.)
As I cook lard, it spits.
(Yeah my wok's just the pits.)
Food prepared quite scungily.
(But who cares, I'm hungry!)
...re ...re-heat the oil. Sizzle, pop!
I can make anyone wanna hurl and cough their guts.
Baked artichoke, pumpkin, flavoured with saffron.
The oven is steaming and caked in blackness.
Yikes! I'll get some water to extinguish the fire.
Meals are very pitful. Evening nibbles are dire.
Stinging tongues, straining lungs, cuts and hunger lesions,
Munching is un-pleasin'. Can't do lunch Indonesian.
OK. Kitchen just stocked barley and cloves.
Gotta try again, I'll cook duck on the stove.
Open the fowl, give the recess a tug, maple-glaze the breast.
Turn my back... an explosion of flesh.
What keeps happening to soups, steaks and sour wings?
Cuz I'll flame grill a rump and the plate will singe.
I just wanna serve a guest like a pro knows how.
But this pan is a terror when baking now.
My broke fry pan.
(Quite gross, my man.)
It's got a lotta grease.
(Which bubbles grottily.)
As I cook lard, it spits.
(Yeah my wok's just the pits.)
Food prepared quite scungily.
(But who cares, I'm hungry!)
My broke fry pan.
(Quite gross, my man.)
It's got a lotta grease.
(Which bubbles grottily.)
As I cook lard, it spits.
(Yeah my wok's just the pits.)
Food prepared quite scungily.
(But who cares, I'm hungry!)
...ri ...rinse off and peel, rinse it again.
Switch on the home-cooking shows on Channel 10.
Bough some hot videos like 'Stew with Jamie.'
Such beaut recipes. Stuff them all up, my cakes O.D.
Awful once I get a pan, this fat frier.
Ruined roasts and gravy are hopeless ventures.
Endeavour to have fried a mackerel by Wednesday.
Bakers all chacchinate, I'm a travesty.
Smouldering dessert. Is it healthwise, charcoal?
The kitchen's reeking of old filth and mould.
Gunk flows, food scraps oozing: butter, alcohol
The sink is rife with old trout, turkey beaks and eyes.
A slow learner, cannot bake or cook, steam or dice.
Bag a take-out chicken and a pizza each damn night.
Smart boy burns again, can't do the easiest dish.
If you're alive after my rice, then pray in thankness.
My broke fry pan.
(Quite gross, my man.)
It's got a lotta grease.
(Which bubbles grottily.)
As I cook lard, it spits.
(Yeah my wok's just the pits.)
Food prepared quite scungily.
(But who cares, I'm hungry!)
My broke fry pan.
(Quite gross, my man.)
It's got a lotta grease.
(Which bubbles grottily.)
As I cook lard, it spits.
(Yeah my wok's just the pits.)
Food prepared quite scungily.
(But who cares, I'm hungry!)
...ri ...rigorous flames will hiss on me.
Soon extinguishing all these torched mung beans.
Like a campfire of paprika-filled slush.
Bream f***ed, too. Man, every plate's empty- can't cook!
I'm burning black peaches in pots, leeks are foamin'.
Braisin' carrots? A grievous omen.
All the milk's curdled, the honey has gone strange.
Funny after-tang of sourness, this meringue.
I'm causing misery for nieghbours.
I burned the trout and all. They're feasting on extra-rare bacon.
Afterwards, their stomachs throb, achin'.
Savory was runny because my pan bakes like crazy.
Each of my new plates get massacred within days, see.
I cannot cook, body count is now past eighty.
Carve up a roast, spray my clothes with pas-tr-y.
Steel clothes when I bake for three.
If the fruitcake folds, the soup explodes,
I'll turn back to Chinese yet again, suppose.
My pots and pans you gave to me? Rank with holes
Eat more, burn more. Take-out schmoe.
Battered kitchen? World War sink?
Gotta get another pan, this one stinks.
Girlfriend gives in and says she'll do cooking?
Oh thank your darling, you're my queen!
My broke fry pan.
(Quite gross, my man.)
It's got a lotta grease.
(Which bubbles grottily.)
As I cook lard, it spits.
(Yeah my wok's just the pits.)
Food prepared quite scungily.
(But who cares, I'm hungry!)
My broke fry pan.
(Quite gross, my man.)
It's got a lotta grease.
(Which bubbles grottily.)
As I cook lard, it spits.
(Yeah my wok's just the pits.)
Food prepared quite scungily.
(But who cares, I'm hungry!)
Flavour's turmeric, darl.
Flavou'rs turmeric, darl.
Flavour's turmeric, darl.
He consumes it.
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User Comments
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The OS is incredibly overplayed, but I won't hold that against ya.
( ABC-F 05 ) DKTOS, but alot of work here.
For DKTOS, here's an excerpt for lyrical comparison:
Be... before we came to this country,
We were kings and queens, never porch monkeys.
There was empires in Africa called Kush.
Timbuktu, where every race came to get books,
To learn from black teachers who taught Greeks and Romans,
Asian Arabs and gave them gold. When
Gold was converted to money it all changed.
Money then became empowerment for Europeans.
...ri ...rigorous flames will hiss on me.
Soon extinguishing all these torched mung beans.
Like a campfire of paprika-filled slush.
Bream f***ed, too. Man, every plate's empty- can't cook!
I'm burning black peaches in pots, leeks are foamin'.
Braisin' carrots? A grievous omen.
All the milk's curdled, the honey has gone strange.
Funny after-tang of sourness, this meringue.
Be... before we came to this country,
We were kings and queens, never porch monkeys.
There was empires in Africa called Kush.
Timbuktu, where every race came to get books,
To learn from black teachers who taught Greeks and Romans,
Asian Arabs and gave them gold. When
Gold was converted to money it all changed.
Money then became empowerment for Europeans.
...ri ...rigorous flames will hiss on me.
Soon extinguishing all these torched mung beans.
Like a campfire of paprika-filled slush.
Bream f***ed, too. Man, every plate's empty- can't cook!
I'm burning black peaches in pots, leeks are foamin'.
Braisin' carrots? A grievous omen.
All the milk's curdled, the honey has gone strange.
Funny after-tang of sourness, this meringue.
(ABC) Luke .. get help ... LOL
(ABC - F) Put your hands up and slowly back away from the kitchen.
(F) Wow, didn't recognise you without the red spinning diamond over your head... sorry I walled you in and let you starve to death back when you were my Sims character, but I got tired of watching you burn down the kitchen and pee yourself. ;D
LOL Johnny D and Rex! Melhi... sounds like a typical Friday night attempt at chicken schnitzel! ;)
(ABC05) As usual, DKTOS but an very entertaining read!
(ABC) Still a good one...
BTW, for my response to this, you should read my own "Genius of Grub." Obviously you won't know the OS, but you should still enjoy it. It's here somewhere: http://www.amiright.com/parody/80s/tomtomclub0.shtml
(ABC05) I hate to cook but, I like this....5s
Out of the fire, and into the frying pan!
DKTOS, but some lovely rhymes (un-pleasin'/Indonesian was my favourite, I think)
(ABC) Sorry Luke, DKTOS....
some really tasty vocabulary here! what does scungily mean?? terrific job!
I CAN'T SING
OH WELL
I FEEL LIKE SINGING
i told you i can't sing oh well i tried
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