# Cook & Saw — Lyrics (Version 1: The Main Flex)

**Artist:** Mister Bead
**Track:** Cook & Saw (V1)
**Length target:** 3:10–3:40

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TITLE: Cook & Saw
ARTIST: Mister Bead

[INTRO — knife on board (tk-tk-tk), table-saw whir spinning up, ~8 bars]
(Measure twice…)
(…cut once.)
(Mister Bead in the kitchen AND the shop.)

[HOOK]
I cook (I cook), I saw (I saw),
heat on the pan, blade on the raw.
Mise en place, then I run through the law —
real ones build it, fake ones jaw.
I cook (I cook), I saw (I saw),
season it slow, then I cut what I draw.
You perform — me, I plate and I plane,
Mister Bead make it real, you just talk in the rain.

[VERSE 1]
Sawdust on the apron, garlic on the glove,
I'm a two-hand craftsman, that's a maker's kind of love.
Measure twice, cut once — that's the recipe too,
you can't rush a reduction or a dovetail through.
Low and slow on the brisket, square and true on the joint,
every cut got a reason, every season got a point.
They want the clout with no kerf, want the fame with no flame,
I got sawmarks on my knuckles and a sear on my name.
Knife skills, drill bits, same wrist, same calm,
I plate it like a Sunday and I build it like a barn.
Oakville cold outside, but the oven keep it warm,
shop light buzzin' while I weather any storm.

[HOOK]
I cook (I cook), I saw (I saw),
heat on the pan, blade on the raw.
Mise en place, then I run through the law —
real ones build it, fake ones jaw.

[VERSE 2]
They sell a costume, I sell a craft,
they read a script, I read the grain and the draft.
You can't fake a roux, can't fake a true edge,
can't fake the hours that I left on the ledge.
Rip cut clean, then I plane it 'til it sing,
deglaze the pan, now the whole kitchen ring.
I don't need a name to drop, I drop a plate,
I don't need a crowd to clap, I let the work translate.
Jigsaw the doubt, simmer down the noise,
I'm a quiet kind of loud, all substance, no toys.
Apron strings and sawdust, that's the whole résumé —
Mister Bead been buildin' dinner and a dynasty.

[BRIDGE — foley breakdown: sizzle, sander, whisk, then drums slam back]
(Hear that? That's the pan. That's the blade.)
(That's a man with two trades and a debt all paid.)
Cook it 'til it's tender, cut it 'til it's clean —
craft is the flex, you just chasin' a screen.
(I cook… I saw… I cook… I saw…)

[FINAL HOOK]
I cook (I cook), I saw (I saw),
heat on the pan, blade on the raw.
Mise en place, then I run through the law —
real ones build it, fake ones jaw.
You perform — me, I plate and I plane,
Mister Bead make it real, you just talk in the rain.

[OUTRO — saw winds down, one last knife tk-tk, oven timer ding]
(Plate up. Shop's closed.)
I cook… I saw…
(…and I never had to say it twice.)
*ding*
```