Puff Beaddy
ecb9e4bca0
"Cook & Saw" — Mister Bead works two trades with one pair of hands: he cooks (kitchen heat, the pass) and he saws (workshop blade, the build). Dual metaphor throughout — mise en place meets measure-twice-cut-once. Thesis: craft over clout, "real ones build it, fake ones jaw." Signature production gimmick: kitchen + shop foley as percussion (knife, sizzle, table-saw, sander, oven-ding). 3 versions: V1 Cook & Saw (balanced flex), V2 The Pass (kitchen-forward, "yes chef"), V3 Sawdust (workshop-forward). 6 productions: Mise En Place (boom-bap) / Sizzle (trap) / Greasy Spoon (funk-soul) / The Workbench (industrial) / Family Meal (warm soul) / Back Shop Lo-Fi. Lore: Oakville workshop, the wagon's parts cut by hand, precision-as-craft. No real people, zero slurs — copyright gates passed. Brief from Tee (2026-06-11). Co-Authored-By: Claude Opus 4.8 (1M context) <noreply@anthropic.com>
75 lines
2.5 KiB
Markdown
75 lines
2.5 KiB
Markdown
# Cook & Saw — Lyrics (Version 2: The Pass)
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**Artist:** Mister Bead
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**Track:** Cook & Saw (V2 — kitchen-forward)
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**Length target:** 3:00–3:30
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---
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```
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TITLE: Cook & Saw (The Pass)
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ARTIST: Mister Bead
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[INTRO — kitchen ambience, ticket printer, a pan catches fire WHOOMP, ~8 bars]
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(Heard! — two on the fly!)
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(Mister Bead on the pass.)
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(Yes, chef.)
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[HOOK]
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On the pass, on the pass, I don't miss,
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sear it hard, plate it clean, blow a kiss.
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You microwave a moment, I reduce it to bliss,
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Mister Bead cook the truth — put your fork up to this.
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(Yes chef, yes chef — heat it up)
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(Yes chef, yes chef — eat it up)
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[VERSE 1]
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Mise en place 'fore the rush, everything in its lane,
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sharpened steel, steady hand, low flame in my brain.
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I don't panic when it's eighty tickets deep,
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I just breathe through the fire like a promise I keep.
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Salt early, taste often, that's a life and a sauce,
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you skip the foundation, that's a flavor and a loss.
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They platin' for the photo, I'm platin' for the soul,
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garnish ain't a cover for a dish with a hole.
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Knife go tk-tk-tk, that's my metronome,
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the kitchen is a country and I'm cookin' it home.
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[HOOK]
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On the pass, on the pass, I don't miss,
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sear it hard, plate it clean, blow a kiss.
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You microwave a moment, I reduce it to bliss,
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Mister Bead cook the truth — put your fork up to this.
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[VERSE 2]
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Low and slow teach patience, high heat teach nerve,
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every burn on my forearm is a lesson I earned.
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I can saw too — don't forget the other hand,
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build the table that I serve it on, that's the whole plan.
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Cook the feast, craft the bench, set the family seat,
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that's a maker and a feeder, that's a heartbeat complete.
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You can't plate a personality, can't plate a brand,
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the proof is in the eatin', put the dish in they hand.
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Reduce, reduce — I cut the water from the claim,
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what's left is concentrated, that's the Mister Bead name.
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[BRIDGE — sizzle + a slow whisk, strings swell]
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The best seat in the house is the stool by the stove,
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where the realest conversation and the warmest meals rove.
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I don't cook for the camera, I cook for the room —
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the ones who stayed hungry, I be feedin' 'em soon.
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(On the pass… on the pass…)
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[FINAL HOOK]
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On the pass, on the pass, I don't miss,
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sear it hard, plate it clean, blow a kiss.
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You microwave a moment, I reduce it to bliss,
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Mister Bead cook the truth — put your fork up to this.
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(Yes chef, yes chef — heat it up)
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[OUTRO — plates stacking, exhale, hood fan winds down]
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(Service done. Family meal.)
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On the pass… all night…
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(Sit down. Eat. You earned it.)
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```
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