The Bakery

[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 shit 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 shits 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 shit 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, fuck 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
Fuck 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 shit 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)