I was tired of my cooking, I'd had to eat it too long
Like those cheap frozen dinners that taste awful strong
So one night with indigestion, I read the paper in bed
And in the personals column, there was this letter that read:

If you like cheese enchiladas, but you don't like whole grain
If you think that all yogurt should be thrown down the drain
If you like eating cake at midnight while others are asleep
I'm the chef you have looked for, and I work pretty cheap

I didn't think about my cookbook, I know that sounds kind of mean
But me and my old cookbook had fallen into the same old dull routine
So I wrote to the paper, took out a personal ad
And though I'm nobody's poet, I thought it wasn't half-bad

Yes, I like cheese enchiladas, and I can't stand whole grain
I am into all liquor, including champagne
I've got to meet you by tomorrow noon, and cut though all this
ballyhoo
At a bar called O'Malley's where we'll plan our menu

So I had high hopes, when I walked in the bar
I knew the guy in an instant, he was drinking Lone Star
He said I'm really not a chef, I'm just new in town
And I wanted somebody to show me around

If you like cheese enchiladas, and you can't stand whole grain
If you think that all yogurt should be thrown down the drain
You're a guy I can relate to, and you'll do just fine
Then he bought me a Lone Star, and said "here's to good times"