When it appeared on the Wordlab comp back in 2000, Blak Twang's "Masterchef Sandwich" was dismissed as a "terminally parochial" example of "why Brit-rap has remained underground for so long" by some clueless turdburger at the New Musical Express.
Needless to say, it's nothing of the sort; rather, the man Tony Rotton hooks up an ace bouncy Oompa-Loompas-on-steroids beat and drops punchlines both braggadocious and food-centred while also finding time to have a stern word with those in the UK scene that never seem to support the good stuff:
Needless to say, it's nothing of the sort; rather, the man Tony Rotton hooks up an ace bouncy Oompa-Loompas-on-steroids beat and drops punchlines both braggadocious and food-centred while also finding time to have a stern word with those in the UK scene that never seem to support the good stuff:
When hunger strikes and I'm on the mic I turn rappers to brunch
I'm like Gremlins after 12 in all-you-can-eat restaurants
Call me Gizmo. Comin' like piranhas in a fishbowl
Terrorisin' fishy wishy-washy rappers with kid flows
[...]
I never thought I'd hear myself say this
But certain DJs are responsible for all the fuckeries and the fakeness
Putting basic timewasters on the A-list of the playlist
But if it was down to me they'd be on some "no-luck-today" list
They've yammed so many calls they're constipated
That's why they find it hard to swallow when the proper shit gets defecated
I've never catered. What they know about spice-ness?
Their definition of Spice is a tart in a tight dress...
And anyway, who among us can really resist a song that proclaims "Sod Ainsley Harriott (sod him). Sod his recipes"?mp3: Blak Twang — "Masterchef Sandwich"
