Drive-Thru Deathmatch

[Intro]
[dark bells, engine revs, crowd murmur]
Mic check in the carpark
Grease smoke in the night air
Six kings in a small town
Only one crown, pull up, don’t share (skrrt)

[Chorus]
Drive‑thru deathmatch, bags in the air (hey!)
Six masked chefs, all talkin’ that flair
Oil pop, doors lock, who really gon’ care
When the buns hit the floor and the teeth hit the snare
Drive‑thru deathmatch, pick your side quick
Whole damn strip ’bout to turn real sick
Salt in the cut, we can fight or we can split
But somebody gettin’ cooked when the mic get lit

[Verse 1 – Hungry Jack’s (deep Aussie drawl, cocky)]
Yeah, it’s Jack in this bitch, I’m the big‑bun bruiser
Flame‑kissed flex, every patty feelin’ smoother
Y’all thin, taste slim, I’m a thick cut mover
Your crown made of plastic, my hunger way ruder
Call me big stack Jack, sauce drip off the knuckles
You a kids’ meal clown, I’m the whole damn struggle
Late night fiends know who serve ’em that trouble
You a playground joke, I’m a double‑deck shovel
Pull up, brown bag swingin’ like a brick
You can smell that char every time that I spit
Y’all frozen‑smell fake, I was raised in the pit
You ain’t feeding grown men, you just babysit

[Chorus]
Drive‑thru deathmatch, bags in the air
Six masked chefs, all talkin’ that flair
Oil pop, doors lock, who really gon’ care
When the buns hit the floor and the teeth hit the snare
Drive‑thru deathmatch, pick your side quick
Whole damn strip ’bout to turn real sick
Salt in the cut, we can fight or we can split
But somebody gettin’ cooked when the mic get lit

[Verse 2 – McDonald’s (hyper, sneering, fast triplets)]
Big M in the back, red suit, gold drip (woo)
Whole globe on my lap, you a one‑block blip
I’m the habit, I’m the itch, I’m the late‑shift fix
You a footnote fry in my billion‑served script
Talk tall, Jack? Boy, I feed your fans
They leave my spot then pretend you the man
You shadows in my arches, my bags on demand
I’m the steroid snack in a corporate can
Clown with the crown but I bankroll the beef
I could buy you, fry you, write it off in a week
Your grill still squeak, my ads run deep
Kids chant my name in their motherfuckin’ sleep
I’m the empire meal with the sugary smile
You just loud smoke, I’m the long‑term file
Y’all queue in my lane, try copy my style
But your toy box broke, I been evil a while

[Verse 3 – Hungry Jack’s (answer, darker tone)]
You global, so what? Still tastin’ like air
Call it happy all you want, that bite feel bare
My stack hit heavy, real weight in the chair
You the fast food villain tryna act like you care
Take your golden grin, scrape it off in the sink
You a plastic throne built of branded pink
I’m the late‑night secret that they really wanna drink
You the price‑tag trap that they hate but they think

[Chorus]
Drive‑thru deathmatch, bags in the air
Six masked chefs, all talkin’ that flair
Oil pop, doors lock, who really gon’ care
When the buns hit the floor and the teeth hit the snare
Drive‑thru deathmatch, pick your side quick
Whole damn strip ’bout to turn real sick
Salt in the cut, we can fight or we can split
But somebody gettin’ cooked when the mic get lit

[Verse 4 – KFC (Southern preacher rasp, confident)]
White suit, red stripes, step out that bucket
Bird got a halo