| First of all I make sure I’ve got the right ingredients
|
| Before I heat up the pan
|
| I take a little bit of bitterness to grease it up
|
| And keep everything close at hand
|
| Then I add a few ounces of fresh frustration and half a cup of attitude
|
| A rush of adrenaline to spice things up
|
| And then half a spoon of bad mood
|
| One bottle of my sweat one bottle of tears
|
| A few drops of my own blood
|
| It all blends together like a cat and dog
|
| And the result is as clear as mud
|
| I pick the worst situation out of the bunch
|
| And throw it right into the mix
|
| And last but not least I add a little bit of spit
|
| Just a few little nasty cliques
|
| That’s my recipe for hate
|
| I turn up the heat to 400 degrees and go to work on the attitude
|
| I shake it all up in a provocative way to make sure it comes out rude
|
| Then I grind down the frustration hard so that all of the scents can blend
|
| I pour the sweat on top and then the tears
|
| To make sure that I don’t make friends
|
| When the mood is wrong, everything is right, I can add the adrenaline
|
| But I’ve got to be careful with the dose I use
|
| The effect shouldn’t wear to thin
|
| The blood comes last cos' it always has a tendancy to cool and coagulate
|
| So I calculate and make no mistakes
|
| It’s so fresh that it still pulsates
|
| That’s my recipe for hate…
|
| When the meal is done you get a spoiled appetite
|
| And a dish full of disagree some ignorance on the side
|
| A plate full of hate, served with a fistful of me |