Sex in the kitchen, over by the stove. Put you on the counter by the buttered rolls. Hands on the table, on your tippy toes. We’ll be making love like the restaurant was closed. – R. Kelly, In the Kitchen
R. Kelly starts with a kind of normal situation. He wants to have sex in the kitchen. Sure, it’s kind of unappetizing and God knows what the hell R. Kelly is going to do with buttered rolls. From what I have heard, he seriously has a problem with warm, golden liquids. And yeah, it’s potentially a health hazard, especially if you put your sensitive areas on a place where you were recently handling raw chicken. Still, as gross as an idea as a salmonella-filled vajayjay is, this is pretty mild territory for an R. Kelly song. Until he suddenly mentions, by the way, let’s do this like no one else is in the restaurant. So…R. Kelly is having sex in the kitchen of a packed restaurant? Forget nobody seeing you, R., I don’t want your love juices anywhere near my Riblets Basket. This is one reason why I never eat anywhere you can’t see exactly what is going on in the kitchen.