Home made hot sauce

They don't know my demons

When I take that walk

They don't know the days

I was numb in my bed

Hot sauce on my eggs

But my heart felt dead

So I went back to the jars

Back to that smell

Where vinegar and peppers

Pushed the ghost out the well

If the devil wanna dance

He can meet me in the steam

I got generations in this bottle

This ain't no meme

Mookie Wilson on the floor

Keepin' guard by the door

He the only one

That saw me cryin

On that kitchen floor

Lord Byron the reaper

In a ball cap loaf

Just a man at the stove

With a heart full of smoke

I mix trauma with the garlic

All the secrets with the lime

Let it simmer like the way

I've been simmerin' over time

You can taste my childhood

You can taste my rage

Every cap twist open

Like a diary page

Serve it at the table

Watch him cough

Watch him sweat

They say, damn, that's hot

I say, we ain't even met

If you think this burns bad

You should feel my mind

Where the memories grow

Teeth and they bite from behind

I got homemade hot sauce

Drippin' out the jar

Burn a hole through your soul

Leave flavor in your scars

From the lava on the stove

To the fire in my brain

Every drop hit your tongue

Like a permanent wave of pain

Now I'm sellin' little bottles

Of the life I survived

Every cap is a chapter

Of the times I almost died

You can drizzle on your chicken

You can splash it on your fries

But respect that this heat

Came from tears in my eyes

Got a crate in the trunk

Couple cases in the crib

Same hands that mix sauce

Put a mic to my lips

VVS chains on my neck

From the pain I survived

I don't flex it on no gram

I just wear it when I ride

Didn't know as a kid

She was trainin' my vision

Teachin' me to tame my rage

While that pot was hissin

Carolina Reaper in the pot

While my demons start itchin

So I guess you could say

I got it all out the kitchen

So when you taste that drip

And your eyes start to water

Know it came from a grandson

Raised by a farmer's daughter

Me and Mookie in the shadows

Keepin' watch like a boss

This is Lord Byron the Reaper

This is homemade hot sauce

I got a homemade hot sauce

Drippin' out the jar

Burn a hole through your soul

Leave flavor in your scars

From the lava on the stove

To the fire in my brain

Every drop hit your tongue

Like a permanent wave of pain

From her hands to my hands

From the stove to the booth

From the burn on your tongue

To the weight of my truth

If it's too hot for you

Then just scrape it off

I was built in the fire

I'm homemade hot sauce

I'm homemade hot sauce