Marek’s peeling asparagus, quick,
the chef will sure pick on him;
it needs to be peeled nice.
Little time left, it’s almost seven.
Breakfast must be served from eight on.
The chef stands over him and urges him.
He’s a genius and a true enthusiast,
which makes him stern. He can sure appear
on Hell’s Kitchen one day. He starts yelling at Mark.

Should he make him lick the sink all clean,
what can he say to this? “right-ho, chef, sir!”

Peel it all, then freeze the sauce
with liquefied nitrogen, quick.
Must be done right, or he’ll yell again.
His diner is spesh, molecular, fine dining,
may well get a star from Michelin –
how great to dream the boss’s dream.

Should he make him lick the sink all clean,
what can he say to this? “right-ho, chef, sir!”

When Marek was all green, he’d say “Mishelin”
and everybody laughed. Now he’s no longer green,
he knows it’s “Mishlen” and not “Mishelin” –
how great to dream the boss’s dream.

Asparagus may turn sour, he’s not peeled it right.
The chef is yelling again, he is scolding Mark.

Should he make you lick the sink all clean,
what can you say to this? “right-ho, chef, sir!”
When Moses saw the burning bush,
That’s what he said: “right-ho, chef, sir!”
right-ho, chef!
right-ho, chef!
right-ho, chef!