Microwave Chef

Gritty underground boom bap drives this style with dusty, lo-fi drum breaks and a haunting minor-key loop, The cracking snare hits like a gavel against dark lyrics, while a distorted, subterranean bassline mirrors the “winter bite, ” turning the verse into a cold, rhythmic ritual, Gothic Hardcore fuses street aggression with cinematic doom, using percussive, heavy rhymes and bleak imagery—rust, frost, and shad

V4.5-ALL

[Intro] Packet in my hand Directions on the back Talking 'bout preheat Like I ever had that [Verse 1] They say "set the tray, fan 200, wait" I'm staring at the dial like "bro, we ain’t got that space" Tiny little kitchen, one plug, one plate One button, three beeps, that's my whole estate "Golden and crispy" in fifteen flat I’m doing math like, double it, triple it, cap? Flip the box over, every line lies "Best in the oven" yeah, best if I had time [Chorus] I’m a microwave chef, press start, no stress If the box say bake, we adapt, God bless From frozen to flame in a minute or less I don’t need an oven just to eat, I just press I’m a microwave chef, make it work, say less If it spins on the plate, then it’s part of my flex Turn that frozen brick to a midnight feast All I got is this beep, but it’s all that I need [Verse 2] Steam on the door, see the cheese go wild Half still cold, other half molten lava style Stir it in the middle, fork like scalpel Burnt tongue, every bite still a gamble Timer on two, then add on three Stand there, stare there, that’s my degree Bachelor in Beep with a minor in hack If it say "do not", that’s a kitchen life hack [Bridge] Why they always talk "preheat, rack, tray"? All I ever had was a bowl and a spray If it fits on the glass, then it fits in my day Eat now, laugh later, that’s minimum wage gourmet [Chorus]

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