The Rage of the Kitchen Lady -
Sweats and bloods toiled, day and night up,
All that I could hear, clamors of these once shining pots.
How many meals cooked, I wouldn't count but remember well,
Mixing thousands of herbs and spices, a lousy worn-out spoon I used.
In the middle of the heat, some bearded scoundrel showed up,
What was he to have, for foods and for drink and what's not?
Making a scene he did, drunk and rude like hell,
But dare he ask me, where're his meal and Mao-Niao?
I slapped his right with a saucepan, I punched his left with a soup pot,
Sending his arse rolling, I made sure he regretted for having the guts.
Massing with me and thinking it could be so swell?
You bearded M*******cker, for dessert, a pair of fists for you!
READ: We reserve the rights of NOT to serve!