Clink

Cooking would be a wonderful career
A fiery passion, a road so clear
Laughing and eating and serving up food
Like tender beef that’s been perfectly stewed

But it’s not all unicorns and rainbows
There are highs, too true, but also definite lows
You work twelve hour days, standing non-stop
You sweat and you fry and you chop, chop, chop

You get up at four and go to fresh market
Get the ingredients, go back home, have an omelette
Then you show up at ten to start the day’s prep work
Slicing and dicing, the chicken needs jerking

Come one o’clock the kitchen’s in a fever
You’re going real quick, it’s not fast enough, your cleaver
The lunch rush is done, but now it’s dinner’s turn
Try so hard to make sure that nothing burns

It’s stressful and grueling and drives you to drink
Fine wine that is, to go with your wine list ’Clink’
You finally get home, smelling like grease
And crash on the couch, sleep is your release