Daniel Young Aka Muph - The Bakery lyrics

{muphin} I take a swig of ya brew But it was a little messy like beef stew Lacking concepts and ideas Ya feel there's nothing left to do, for you And i knew this through the sips i took Ya sh*t was a little under cooked Through ya expensive advertising campaigns Ya restaurant was booked totally out Not a vacancy, vaguely prepared With rats majorly feeding off ya raps Then came the health inspector in the form of an attack Ya got germs and infestations flowing through floor cracks And wall gaps, perhaps ya better off to collapse or burn Hire an arsonist Or a pharmiscist cause what ya feeding is poison And the customers will requirе prescriptions Ya read someonе elses recipe Wrongfully interpretating inscriptions The conviction is fraud When u cut your pastries u use a blunt knife Whilst i use a machete sword The correct amounts of ingredients are poured Into the bowl Bit of creativity,style and soul Whilst you don't add enough And still ya sh*ts burnt to charcoal So as a baker ask yourself what are your goals (chorus x 2) The b-a-k e-r-y Cooking fresh sh*t that just can't be denied The b-a-k e-r-y The ingredients only that we can provide The b-a-k e-r-y Pure delicacies when our skills are applied {big v aka bigfoot} We've got a propper popper stopper not a coat hanger Wire twisted, the chef comes fresh when he's spits it V can bring the seasoning with ease And sting like salt in a gash While you hacks are serving up kitchen scraps, fu*k that I'm fittin raps together cleverly, you'll forver be Looking over my shoulder trying to get the recipe Never coming fake like a maccas grilled chicken burger Still spitting words to furthur reprimand the bland jam Straight out of the can , and devoid the flavor Keep a close watch over the pots when i labour At the b-a-k, to the e-r-y I'll put ya rap in the fat and watch it fry (chorus x 2) {muphin} Once ya take a taste, you'll be taken to a new place As pleasure glazes over ya face Say ya grace befor ya begin the feeding Information absorbed like from encycolpaedia reading Proceeding through the sour to the sweet Osinaka on the beats, big v for the treat Malabar was the street where the flavours were made Some left and some stayed, but it's there my heart remains Hip hop my main trade Leave ya playing a silent game like chirades The tray is filled with delicacies Beyond ya wildest fantasies Gradually the cookbook becomes increasingly full In 97 i completed seconadry school And kept cookin the tracks fu*k those who called me the fool Ya wanna duel, i'll debate ya hatred till ya heads numb Some of the tracks i've done Will make ya tongue tickle like prawn crackers Some of them will have sugar flowing from ya cd stackers Whilst others simply smell nice like lip smackers I attack the beat with enthusiasm Voices in my head Spotting the mic and telling me to grab him The occasional back spasm Causes me to add a little to much spice But sh*t still tastes nice Whilst so many mc's have as much flavour as plain rice To large heights does the food rise in the oven Straight out the bakery, this was the muphin (chorus x 3)