Because you know I'm all about that baste bout that baste, more butter...
I'm all about that baste bout that baste, more butter...
I'm all about that baste bout that baste, baste, baste, baste...
On Thanksgiving Day, I think it's pretty true... A dad can't make it, make it, like they're
supposed to do... The dining room, room, room...
We have no taste, we put all the wrong forks in all the wrong places...
I see the magzine, with all the receipes... My daughter, she could make it...
But me? "Daddy please..." So mommy hands me this and says you've got
to sop 'till every inch of it is perfect from the
bottom to the top... Whoa yeah momma she told me don't worry about
the pie... Don't worry, worry
Don't worry She said I burn them because I screw up everything
I try... He cannot cook it, he's gonna burn it...
She said your stuffing is dry and you're cassarole is made all wrong...
It looks like pudding, disgusting... So get this baster, this timer, and go ahead
and move along... And so I'm all about that baste
bout that baste, more butter... I'm all about that baste,
bout that baste Oh I'm bringing butter back...
Don't try to wear those skinny britches, nah... 'Cause I'm'a pour this all over that...
I'm here to tell you every inch of it is perfect from the bottom to the top. Yeah!
"Uh oh.... haha... aw, that's our last shot...." "That's our last shot. Ah, yeah."