My father knelt at this alter.
He died with sugar in his blood.
I’ll take a large number two with some extra dopamine.
Add in a side of fructose corn syrup, don’t forget the aspartame.
Feed me all your lies with a double order of curly fries.
Wash it down with the punch from Hawaii, soaking up all the red dyes.
Give me that goodness, Cajun battered, double fried.
Hmmm, Dine in or carry out? No, let’s make it curbside.
Glazed, bear claws, fritters, I’ll take a dozen, make it a baker.
At this rate, I’m sure my heart will need that pacemaker.
Maybe it’s genetic, because ain’t no way any of this is my fault.
Oh before I forget, please add in an extra tablespoon of salt.
Doctor just give me some of those pills and that liquid pepper you make.
I promise I'll put the fork down, just after another slice of this lemon pound cake.
Oh I’m addicted, anyone can see.
Best believe you’ll have a hard time trying to convince me.
I can hide all my pain and stress with a quick drive through meal.
Having no accountability, begging Jesus for him to take the wheel.
This is America, with our lives we take a chance.
Where the chemicals in our food have created a strange romance.
So I’ll pick my myself up off of this dark kitchen floor.
And maybe one day I’ll stop worshiping this idol we call refrigerator.
