Sauce (DARK BREAKBEAT COVER)

[Drums: crisp syncopated breakbeats, dry snare] [Hooks stay fast and percussive] [Memphis phonk braekbeat fast rap] [Intro] Sauce in the structure, cost in the clause, crossing the gloss with the flaws in the law, stirring the loss till it talks in the pot, till the raw turns sharp and the frauds get caught. [Verse 1 ] Born in the frost with a thought and a pan, plan in the palm and the flame in command, hunger in hand and a tongue full of sand, turning the bland into something that stands. No soft little gloss on a soft little plate, I reduce every bruise into juice, into weight, simmer it, thicken it, blister it, break, let the flavor name every ache that it takes. Sauce as a system, discipline, prism, visible signal of invisible wisdom, kitchen collision with written religion, sharpening appetite’s vision with rhythm. Loss in the ladle and law in the steam, boss-level method in a scholar-level scheme, copper-bottom gospel with a violent little gleam, world dripping slow from a slow-cooked dream. [Hook] I got sauce, paid cost, crossed loss, killed gloss, found law in the flaw where the raw got tossed. I got sauce, paid cost, crossed loss, killed gloss, turned hunger to thesis and thesis to sauce. [Verse 2] Sauce is the proof that the ruin had roots, truth wears boots when it walks through fruit, flame takes the soft and the loose, converts every bruise into beautiful use. Bossed by the clock, by the cost, by the lack, frost in the bones, load on the back, but the pot don’t stop when the room turns black, it talks to the heat till the flavor talks back. No pause for applause, no gauze for scars, no laws for frauds with borrowed cigars, I emboss every flaw with the jaws of the bars, then floss through the dark with a mouth full of stars. Culinary calculus, grammar of appetite, battering blandness with immaculate candlelight, acid and fat in a passionate battle-rite, boiling the ordinary into satellite. Every drip got doctrine, every drop got drive, every stock got a ghost trying hard to survive, every scorch got scripture, every burn got pride, every sauce got a secret refusing to hide. [Hook] I got sauce, paid cost, crossed loss, killed gloss, found law in the flaw where the raw got tossed. I got sauce, paid cost, crossed loss, killed gloss, turned hunger to thesis and thesis to sauce. [Verse 3] From frost to flame to frame to feast, from beast in the belly to prayer in grease, from least little piece to heat’s release, increase till peace turns thick in the teeth. I need range, need rage, need sage in the pan, blade on the page and a bass in the hand, phrase in a cage, sauce taking command, talking when it walks through the wasteland. Moss on the memory, gloss on the enemy, loss in the recipe, cost in the remedy, bosses get buried in buttery elegy, weak little flavors get severed from legacy. Chemist of hunger, minister under the thunder of stomachs that rumble and wonder, plunder the bland, bundle the blunder, render the world till it splits at the center. Not dip for a chip on a dish, this is wish turned whip, this is grip turned gift, script turned spit, myth turned wrist, sauce as the force that refuses to miss. [Bridge] What is sauce but the cost of loss getting crossed with the law till the gloss gets stripped? What is flavor but failure with fire applied till pride and pain both drip? What is hunger but structure, desire but heat, craft but a knife in the grip? What is sauce but the thought that the raw little heart of the world might live if whipped? [Final Verse] Sauce in the syntax, sauce in the skin, sauce in the sentence where silence begins, sauce in the fracture, sauce in the sin, sauce where the weak parts thin. Cost in the chorus, loss in the line, gloss getting tossed from the top of the mind, frost getting crossed by flame in the spine, pot full of proof that the process is mine. I don’t chase clever, I chase exact, don’t fake deep, I make density crack, don’t decorate hunger, demonstrate fact: if flavor ain’t earned, then sauce won’t last. Stir till nerves and verbs converge, till edge of urge gets a surgical surge, till dross in the broth gets forced to emerge, till sauce is the sermon and spoon is the church. [Final Hook] I got sauce, paid cost, crossed loss, killed gloss, found law in the flaw where the raw got tossed. I got sauce, paid cost, crossed loss, killed gloss, turned hunger to thesis and thesis to sauce.