Padma Lakshmi vs. Randy Jackson Lyrics
[Padma Lakshmi]
Oh, pretty boy...
[Round 1: Padma Lakshmi]
I was thrilled to do this show, but a bit resistant
They told me I was battling Simon Cowell's assistant
Third on the panel, but you got no love
They said "eliminate Randy," and you were a judge
You produced America's best dance crew
Just so someone would finally dance with you
You worked with George Michael and Madonna at their best
But you'll just be known for shadowing Seacrest
[Randy Jackson]
Yo, whateva. Whateva, yo, whateva. We're here for the battle. Hit it, my man
[Round 1: Randy Jackson]
If your disses made sense, they would hurt
They're as confusing as a model becoming a food expert
You release cookbooks, a bestselling author
She's a "Top Chef" the way Dr. Dre's a doctor
Heard you won an Emmy, is that really true?
What's it for, besides standing by some food?
Released your own rice, that's alarming
I wouldn't eat your food if my black ass was starving
[Padma Lakshmi]
You look a little hungry. Doesn't he look a little hungry?
[Randy Jackson]
No
[Padma Lakshmi]
Baby boy, let's hear it
[Round 2: Padma Lakshmi]
Yeah, we won an Emmy, no need to be rude
And no way Randy Jackson ever passed up some food
Like the polar ice caps, there's less of you every day
Keep losing weight, I hope you fade away
Get credit as a judge for your incredible picks
But for every Kelly Clarkson, there were four Taylor Hicks
No, I'm not a chef, but I get paid this much
When you look like Urkel, who got fucked by Jabba the Hut
[Randy Jackson]
Whoa. Yo, I didn't even know you could curse on this show
[Padma Lakshmi]
Only thing curse is your raps
[Randy Jackson]
Woo. Oh. Alright, hit it
[Round 2: Randy Jackson]
You could find Ratatouille, I still wouldn't care
Someone find Gordon Ramsay, you're a kitchen nightmare
Though there's way too much spice on your plate
You rely on curry even more than Golden State
You speak five languages and had me stunned
I read your memoir, you had trouble with one
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You dig older men, Salman Rushdie
You like your husbands like Parmesan cheese, old and crusty?
[Randy Jackson]
What? What is wrong with you? Come on, yo
[Padma Lakshmi]
Let's put him back in school, please, Josh
[Beatboxer Josh Silverstein]
I got it
[Round 3: Padma Lakshmi]
You were a solo artist, that lasted three months
Like a child's car seat, you don't belong up front
I'm on the cover of Vogue, you're on the cover of "Vague"
You're on the side of the road, begging for some change
You got just two friends and they both married you
You toured with Mariah, Mariah carried you
Ah, head so bright you lift ships through the fog
I've heard your rap [style?], well, it was a little pitchy, dawg
[Randy Jackson]
Yo, y'all hear that? She gon' use my own words against me. Alright, yo, yo, y'all ready? It's time to shut this down. Hit it
[Round 3: Randy Jackson]
Yo, Padma, you're actin' way too saucy
Coming off like your recipes, way too salty
I'm stuck in this battle, wish I had another option
She's a Kardashian Kris put up for adoption
She made her career of having a look
And wouldn't have a gig if Cindy Crawford could cook
I was told that Padma would slay me all along
But looking at it now, y'all, that's gonna be a damn no from me, dawg
