I’m Gordon Ramsey. “F**k you.”

The restaurant pans into view,
A muttered, “f**k me, screw you”.
This one’ll need more than luck,
The owners almost bankrupt.
The man who made all the pies,
Ran off when Gordon arrived.
His Anglo-Saxon is blue.
His favourite phase is “f**k you”.

“Show me your signature dish.
You must be taking the piss.
This meat is so under cooked.
This size of menu - you’re f**ked.
Your kitchen is a disgrace.
I’m gonna scream in your face.
You must be having a laugh,
Need to get rid of some staff”.

(music)

He’s loved by ladies, up to his spiked highlights.
His steely blue eyes, enhanced by his chef-whites.
He runs to keep fit. Marathons every day.

He makes good food, babe, he’s been awarded stars.
You mess with Gordon, you’ll end up on your arse.
He only, shoves you, baby, when he loves yooooooo.

His passion tends to upset.
Can’t help it, he’s got ‘Tourettes’.
“Why don’t you use smaller plates?
It’s business – not personal mate.”
Ever since Gordon arrived,
the business started to thrive.
“No bullshit – I’ll pull you through.
I’m Gordon Ramsey – f**k you.”