Just random shit, really. Have a listen.
rap english that is all
Lyrics
[you don't know what to do] Thank God I do
Because I've got to prove that there's a lot of truth in the statement "I'm destined not to lose"
Drop a few classics and tear off the roof
Screw a foot, I've got my thighs in the door
Wiping the floor with apostles, jews, Buddhists and gospel crews
Leaving my opposition scarred with clots and bruised
Even the only way I'm black is wearing dark blue cotton socks and shoes
I spew God and leave you rotten; plot, you lose
You're too soft, a few cops are watching you
You want revenge on me for sonning you with lyrics?
It wasn't meant to be; don't try and have it coming through to physics
A punk or two- is this it? Competition is scarce
Rappers sell cos young crackas yell "listen he swears!"
"He says NIGGA somewhere as well!"
I'm scared as hell that battles'll be five million fuck yous and there's the bell
Songs about taking a dump in your face
And making you slump to the pavement cos you couldn't come with the payment
Getting you sunk in a lake, having a jump on your grave
This is the music that'll dominate the charts
No-one notices a guy with something to say- machine Gun Funk's in the way
And God it breaks my heart...
Thanks to that gangsta rap I'll oblige critics
But have a hidden track so disillusioned fans can vibe with it
Here for guys still bumping Illmatic on headphones
New hip-hop oldies still at it; you're Req's homes
I will savage the rest though- verbally vicious
I'll spit evil if you want it, you'll hurt from these disses
I'll wait until you're here, then take the piss and- wait for this
Spit it back at you, filling your ear with urea
In years soon I'll have Kool G Rap saying "your thkill'th awethome thon!"
I won't rest until you fools see that and I've proved that ill talkers come deep as still waters run...
From Shetland winters where you never see the day
To West Yorkshire, where you can smell the toilets 20 feet away
And you don't go into Bradford at night
If you do the clothes you wear have to hide the fact that you're white
Pigeons eat chapatis and pizza that's gotten cold
Then they fly up and attack me for pieces of sausage roll
Ten minutes with spare change, you've given it to these homeless guys
So they can go and buy a little bit of weed
Hell, it soothes the pain
Go on the bus for transport; it's slower but trust me, you don't want to use the train
They're too delayed, a few a day seem to cease to exist
They keep doing this and wonder why they're losing trade?
But the UK's not all bad; there's hardly ever fog
And when there is it's only as long as the rain stopped
An Indian on every street, and their kebabs are perfect
The cabs are worth the price for an efficient taxi service
They know their way around; you won't be lost with them for months
And the better drivers never try to rob you when you're drunk
The problem is that punk rock's the music of choice
People want to be rebellious and use it for noise
I may have to face the fact my tastes are crap
I annoy the DJs in clubs yelling "play some rap!"
They just nod, put on some American faceless clod
Or look closely at me hoping to see a label stuck to my face saying "This mental patient's lost"
Because the UK's hip hop ambassadors are Blazin' Squad, apparently
The Pope'd laugh, raise Satan and blaze a church before any of those arse faced fakers could blaze a verse
And I know I could make a fool out of any of them, but that just makes it worse that I won't get the chance to....
You know what? I should chill, it's all in fun
As long as I can prove that ill talkers come deep as still waters run...