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1. |
Pull the Pork
04:32
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Somewhere in the deep south
Wood is being lit aflame
Slow cookers are being activated
This shoulder cut will never be the same
The dry rub is applied
The seasoning eternal
The pork - submerged into the crock-pot
A barbecue so infernal
The smell of meat roasting excites the nostrils
Life has departed from this flesh so long ago…
Free to do with this carcass as they please
As its internal temperature reaches the optimal degrees
With their hands they rip and tear
Smothered in sauce without care
Blessed are they who pull the pork
To be placed on bread or put to the fork
Ripping through the corpse with insatiable hunger
Life has departed from this flesh so long ago!
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2. |
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Black rice, black rice
Dark grain once forbidden to the masses
A delicacy reserved for emperors
To ensure their dynasty’s longevity
Black rice, forbidden rice
Dark grain once unwashed by the masses
A delicacy reserved for emperors
To ensure their dynasty’s longevity
Anthocyanin supremacy
With abundance in protein and iron
An ingenuity in gene mutation
The emperor’s sacred rice
Was cultivated to enrich the richest
No quarter given to the poor, the sick
Long live the empire
Now cross-bred with other rice species
Only artifacts of the black grain exist today
In the service of public consumption
A black artifact of history
Anthocyanin supremacy
With abundance in protein and iron
An ingenuity in gene mutation
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3. |
Infecting the Crepes
03:48
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Another day at this heap of shit
How did I let my life get to this?
A line cook at a dead end establishment
A marriage of false promises and abuse
This customer is getting on my last nerve
I’ve had it up to here with his entitlement
First the steak was too cold, now its too warm
Arbitrarily unsatisfied, he demands his meal to be comped
I’m about to blow my fucking gasket
In my wrath, I call upon my fellow cooks
“We’ll fix it and throw in some ‘complimentary’ crepes”
A silent nod, an understanding exchanged
A line cook sees to the steak
The rest of us gather
Around the crepes
Culinary malevolence
Infecting the crepes methodically
With piss and other heinous germs
I don’t care if I go to prison
Wiping that smug smile off of his
Fat fucking face is my reward
INFECTING THE CREPES
I made it my mission to personally deliver
The infected crepes to this piece of shit consumer
“Here you go sir, your steak and crepes are on us”
I could have sworn I saw him quiver
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4. |
Considered Bread
04:14
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Waking up in a cold sweat
Three in the morning – body weak
Blood sugar levels plummeting
In my haze, I know I must feed
I creep into my kitchen
Damn, I should have gone grocery shopping
Barely any food in my house
And I can feel my life force dropping
But deep within my pantry walls
I find the last remaining loaf
As my eyes focus I notice
Sickly green fuzz has engulfed the bread
Breaking two stale slices from the bag
Peanut butter coats the myceteae
I’m disgusted, but desperate
In the end, it’s just a piece of bread
My insides are on fire
What have I done?
I succumb to hypoglycemia
I succumb
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5. |
Severe Churns
03:42
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Eyes open, dazed, confused
How did I wake up here?
Swiftly rendered unconscious
By a blow to the back of the head
“Greetings,” my assailant said,
“Scream all you like, soon you’ll be dead.
Tonight is an experimental endeavor,
To churn your blood into butter.”
In defiance of this maniac
I screamed to the heavens
For a god, any god to save me
From this hell I’ve found myself in
Now bound, gagged, hung upside down
Anxiety at an all time high
Blood is rushing to my crown
As my end is extremely nigh
The barrel is set, the churn-staff awaits
To merge my lipids with sweet cream
My well being in such dire straits…
My jugular, my trachea, my carotid arteries
Fall victim to surgical steel and precision
Stifled were my cries, ignored were my pleas
By a madman with a knack for incision
Brief flashes – life depleted
My candle shall no longer burn
Exsanguination complete
So churn, baby, churn
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6. |
Mock the Croissant
04:24
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A fractured mind on its knees
To live my life is to live with disease
Conclusive was the diagnosis
And you won’t want to know the prognosis
I’m afraid to step inside my kitchen
A moldy croissant, borne of malediction
Taunting me with it’s cruelty
I’ll no longer suffer this indignity
“Your life is meaningless,
Not even worth a droplet of piss.”
Twisted yeast crackling with laughter
Unprepared for what comes after
Prepare to meet your doom
When this trash bag becomes your tomb
Denial, the ultimate taunt
That’s how I mock the croissant
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7. |
In My Kingdom Cold Cuts
06:20
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In my kingdom of cold cuts
I want for nothing
Capicola and prosciutto
At the tips of my stained fingers
In my kingdom of cold cuts
These Nitrates are my birthright
Subjects pay their tribute
With copious amounts of fleisch
In my kingdom of layered meats
I am perched upon my throne
Adorned in sodium
A Vegan’s nightmare to behold
In my kingdom of cold cuts
These Nitrate are my birthright
Subjects pay their tribute
With copious amounts of fleisch
In my kingdom of cold cuts
Lies bounties of meat
As far as the eye can see
These cold cuts are mine
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8. |
The Mind's Ribeye
02:22
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9. |
Starch Enemy
04:36
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“They don’t taste very nice…they just taste bitter. They haven’t gone into the fryer, have they?”
“No, no, no.”
“You sure you haven’t put them in the fryer?”
“Yep.”
“Uh, look, mister, let me just have a quick word. Very, very important. This man is paying your salary. His business is about to close. Do you understand how critical the situation is?”
“I do.”
“So pay the man fucking respect and tell the truth. You have deep fried those potatoes.”
“They’ve been from the oven, not deep fried.”
“They are wrinkled, dehydrated, and they’ve been in the deep fat fryer!”
“That-that’s not dehydrated.”
“You’re talking to a chef, and for as long as I’ve got a hole in my butt big boy, those fucking potatoes have been in the deep fat fryer! Don’t fucking lie.”
“I KNOW what I did.”
“You know the oven’s not even HOT enough to roast a potato, we can’t even cook a FUCKING burger in there! They’ve been in the fryer. Tell the fucking truth!”
“Look, they went in the oven, okay?”
“Tell him the fucking truth.”
(He’s so adamant, I’ve even started to doubt my own judgment, until I tracked down Al Samar.)
“How many trays of potatoes did you fry this morning?”
“I fried everything here.”
“You fried all four? And who told you to fry them?”
“My chef.”
“Your chef, yeah…”
“Why did you deep fry those potatoes?”
“You said this earlier, it’s because the oven is nowhere near hot enough.”
“Right…can we get back to basics now and cut the fucking crap?”
-Excerpt taken from Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares, Series 2, Episode 2: “D-Place”
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At The Plates Maryland
Culinary death metal for the hungry metalhead. Established in 2018.
At the Plates is:
Tony Rouse - Guitar, Bass, Drums
Tyler McCarthy - Lead Guitar
Mario Alejandro - Vocals
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