So watching Hell’s Kitchen last night I turned to Bob Dylan and said
Bob, that title “Hell’s Kitchen” would have made a good Dylan song
don’t you think? And he said, “I believe you’re right. Let’s put one
together now while the Ramsey muse is corking through us.”
So we grabbed some Martin guitars from an itinerant neighborhood peddler
and banged our heads into the backs of them and the lyrics just poured.
Trailer trash heroes in the hunt for a dollar
loading their ‘backy with a steel melon-baller
no chef is too drunk or too wide or too rude
no language too coarse, no tattoo too crude
sweat bullets and if they drip onto the meat it
don’t matter ’cause some fool will probably eat it
In Hell (big chord here) (sprattanggggg!)
This really sucks, Bob.
Well, wait a minute, now that I hear the whole thing…
Nah, you’re right, man. Call Springsteen and see if he has any ideas.
But Bruce had no ideas so we spent the rest of the evening prank calling Eric Ripert.
(Call him up. Ask for Jaques D. Ripert. Drives him nuts.)