[Hook: fast hungry male MC, over rolling jungle drums and reese bass] Eighty-six it, eighty-six it, kitchen's out of that Out of rye and out of patience, out of every word you had Eighty-six it, eighty-six it, scratch it off the board Sixteen stools and one hot flat-top, what I need a crown for? [Verse 1: fast hungry male MC, cracking on the snare] Five-fifteen, and the flat-top's hissin' like a snake in a sack Tickets on the rail like a deck of cards stacked Two over easy, one scrambled wet, one burnt Hash browns extra crispy for the trucker in the shirt Spatula in my left hand, and the right one on the toast Eggs on six plates, and I'm movin' like a ghost Waitress callin' tables like an auctioneer in heels I'm hollerin' "Heard!" before she even reach the wheel Nobody on this avenue can flip it how I flip Two pans, one wrist, never spill a single drip Got a burn on every knuckle like a ring on every hand I'm a king behind a counter, and the grill is my land [Hook: full drums] Eighty-six it, eighty-six it, kitchen's out of that Out of rye and out of patience, out of every word you had Eighty-six it, eighty-six it, scratch it off the board Sixteen stools and one hot flat-top, what I need a crown for? [Verse 2: fast hungry male MC, side-eyeing the suit] Seven-thirty, man in a suit sittin' at the end Shiny watch, shiny shoes, says he's lookin' for a friend Orders egg-white omelet with a little fancy herb I say, "We got salt, we got pepper," and he doesn't say a word Watches how I move like he's watchin' a fight Writes it in a notebook, slides a card to the right Says, "I own nine kitchens, and they're all downtown White plates, white walls, and the critics come around Name in lights, your own place, chef coat with your name Twenty cooks to yell at, and the money and the fame" And the tickets keep on printin' while he's talkin' in my ear And the regulars are starin' like, "You leavin' us, Ray? Here?" [Verse 3: fast hungry male MC, he breaks into a double-time run as the rush hits] Eight o'clock, the rush hits, twenty tickets on the rail Scramble two, flip three, butter the rye, plate it up and slide it down the line without fail Bacon on the left, cakes on the right, flip 'em at the bubble, never burned one in my life Mister, I appreciate the card and the shoes, but I already got a kingdom and a crew Miss Della in the booth forty years, same cup, same seat, if I'm gone, who knows she takes it sweet? So keep your nine kitchens and your white-plate dream, I'm the best that ever did it where nobody's seen He said, "Final offer," and I slid him the check Wrote "eighty-six" across it, and I hollered, "Who's next?" [Hook: full drums, reese bass roaring] Eighty-six it, eighty-six it, kitchen's out of that Out of rye and out of patience, out of every word you had Eighty-six it, eighty-six it, scratch it off the board Sixteen stools and one hot flat-top, what I need a crown for? [End]
