Left on Broadway, Chicken King
18 piece spicy wings, extra ranch
I cleaned the bone, skipped over cartilage
Fried okra and sweet cornbread
My car smells like thigh, breast, batter
She finished next to me, asked "What's the matter?"
Ethereal ephemera, death grip on the shift, I don't drive stick
This shit comes to me automatic, like the flick of the wrist
Speeding 110 miles per hour straight to the seventh heaven
I sense God ears wide shut like pixelated monitors
One foot in, the other in suspended animation
Like BMO on their skateboard
I don't rhyme anymore I recite dua'a backwards
Prayer hands to the tangible
My parents sat me down, said Islam was the answer
Couldn't sell me attention, reverse Jordan Belford
The masjid feels like westside 502 at times, out of place, out of time
I'm not supposed to be here, only it wasn't a lie
My cousins think I speak English, it's more code to survive
They smile and nod like they understand me
Surrounded by family yet more alone than ever
I tried to sleep on the mat in 100 degree weather
Perspired through my clothes, total of 30 minute bedrest
He said it was my home but I was more of a tourist in Bangladesh
Short walk to my auntie house
I sat and waited, I hate sitting and waiting
Quote, end quote, a foreigner in my "own land"
So homesick, I was sick of this home, man
Chicken King Video (MV)
Performed By: Fad Lan
Language: English
Length: 1:46
Written by: Fadlan Sheikh, Barrington Hendricks
Fad Lan - Chicken King Lyrics
We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
We currently do not have these lyrics.
If you would like to submit them, please use the form below.
Left on Broadway, Chicken King
18 piece spicy wings, extra ranch
I cleaned the bone, skipped over cartilage
Fried okra and sweet cornbread
My car smells like thigh, breast, batter
She finished next to me, asked "What's the matter?"
Ethereal ephemera, death grip on the shift, I don't drive stick
This shit comes to me automatic, like the flick of the wrist
Speeding 110 miles per hour straight to the seventh heaven
I sense God ears wide shut like pixelated monitors
One foot in, the other in suspended animation
Like BMO on their skateboard
I don't rhyme anymore I recite dua'a backwards
Prayer hands to the tangible
My parents sat me down, said Islam was the answer
Couldn't sell me attention, reverse Jordan Belford
The masjid feels like westside 502 at times, out of place, out of time
I'm not supposed to be here, only it wasn't a lie
My cousins think I speak English, it's more code to survive
They smile and nod like they understand me
Surrounded by family yet more alone than ever
I tried to sleep on the mat in 100 degree weather
Perspired through my clothes, total of 30 minute bedrest
He said it was my home but I was more of a tourist in Bangladesh
Short walk to my auntie house
I sat and waited, I hate sitting and waiting
Quote, end quote, a foreigner in my "own land"
So homesick, I was sick of this home, man
18 piece spicy wings, extra ranch
I cleaned the bone, skipped over cartilage
Fried okra and sweet cornbread
My car smells like thigh, breast, batter
She finished next to me, asked "What's the matter?"
Ethereal ephemera, death grip on the shift, I don't drive stick
This shit comes to me automatic, like the flick of the wrist
Speeding 110 miles per hour straight to the seventh heaven
I sense God ears wide shut like pixelated monitors
One foot in, the other in suspended animation
Like BMO on their skateboard
I don't rhyme anymore I recite dua'a backwards
Prayer hands to the tangible
My parents sat me down, said Islam was the answer
Couldn't sell me attention, reverse Jordan Belford
The masjid feels like westside 502 at times, out of place, out of time
I'm not supposed to be here, only it wasn't a lie
My cousins think I speak English, it's more code to survive
They smile and nod like they understand me
Surrounded by family yet more alone than ever
I tried to sleep on the mat in 100 degree weather
Perspired through my clothes, total of 30 minute bedrest
He said it was my home but I was more of a tourist in Bangladesh
Short walk to my auntie house
I sat and waited, I hate sitting and waiting
Quote, end quote, a foreigner in my "own land"
So homesick, I was sick of this home, man
Writer: Fadlan Sheikh, Barrington Hendricks
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid
Copyright: Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid