The shorts, so short. The beer, so cold. The wings,
So hot. I love Hooters. Those thighs, those breasts–
Chicken ya’ know…on my table to eat.
And that hot sauce boy, to see it glazed on
That tight golden skin, all delicious yum.
I bet it’s as hot as that waitress girl’s
Buns—bread stupid, Geesh! Where is your head at?
Hooters refers to owls, right? Or does it?
After all, we come to buy the meat, so
What else could it be, if not the food that
Brings us here? A good business sells a
Product not an image; who needs image?
That’s why uniforms are bare—no gimmicks.
We love this place for the cheap hot chicken.