Lyrics Three Hundred Pounds of Hongry - Marcia Ball

Three hundred pounds of hongry
Down to the house every Sunday
Boil them taters and butter them buns
Licking that grease right off them thumbs
Three hundred pounds, as tall as he's round
And every pound of that body's so fine
I can hardly believe that it's all mine

Hey, how that three hundred pounds amaze me
When he gets down in the gravy
I'm loving that body, what a soulful dude
When he gets down on that barbecue
Three hundred pounds, as tall as he's round
And every pound of that body's so fine
I can hardly believe that it's all mine, all mine

Everybody asks me why
Do you love a man that's twice your size
Well, don't you know it's the bigger the better
That three hundred pounds sho' 'nuf got it all together

Look at him, Lord, getting those grits
Lovin' him more, the bigger he gets
Now let yourself go, you big old thing
Don't you know I don't care if you weighs a ton
Long as I can butter them buns, your buns, my buns