[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)