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wc-drs - tha iron chef lyrics

thy tongue is thy sword, since the vocabulary minces as the cutlery
you pastry bakers? simmered and elementary
while my sk!lls are beyond culinary
these dishes i throw out, so gustatory to the buds
i have fda inspectors constantly, triple-checking for gmo’s in my cooking
informed them straight up, “ain’t no hoes, allowed in this kitchen!”
they walked in disappointment, chuckled
“you better, or i’ll make that swine snout oink!” hot pointy-poking these porky pigs
so my internal temperature cooled down, as my wellington’s rose
in the oven, the gluttons salivate, ravenously waiting
for my waiters to dish out the weighted plates
saw my rivals in sawed halves, who ent-tle themselves sous chefs, (ha!) more like the main course served to my dinner guests!
prepping dr. seuss to be broth in this batch of egyptian soup
you fishes will be grilled, next to my red snapper and blue b-ss
taken out metal gear solid style, similar to mgs marinated food
kittens are now taxidermy, ancient secrets, like the chinese do
lambs to be chopped then slaughtered, w/the force of wu’s crew
don’t have anything to hide, so i leave it all out in the open to prove
testers were guessing, the flavor like kool aid
after having everyone in my comp, macaulay culkin’d
so upset to stomach, it was eatin’ itself with ulcers
but suddenly, i was relieved at their expressions
they all agreed and decided it was scrumptious!
quelled at once, felt like how quails did when dropping eggs
oops i got distracted, “oh i d-mn, i burned the ostrich!”
threatened to skewer, well done the hogs and broil this warthog
scan at my menu again with discontent, i’ll slit your carotids
twist tie and soak ’em, in high fructose corn syrup
for dessert, as my own twist to red vines licorice
strip your platysema, seasoned with black pepper
cutting it into thinly, sliced bacon strips
tossed their bodies in the smoker, laid the racks
zig-zagged, in the pattern of maimed zebras, to p-ss off peta
put some adam’s applewood chips, in the pit
one day later, smelled like perfection, bon’ appet-te
“who’s ready for lunch, and wants texas brisket!?”
got awarded by everyone from morimoto
samuelson to martha for a job well done
f-ck this rap sh-t, i’ll saute’ rae’s remains with oil
you better believe it’s not b-tter. but only the iron chef

- wc drs lyrics

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