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Its UK Hip-Hop but not as you know it...
Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #3,469
Peak in subgenre #65
Author
Mink-C
Rights
Mink-C
Uploaded
July 26, 2004
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.3 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Lyrics
Bitches follow me around, even the mingers
rappers on my nuts so much, call em nut swingers
bringin a chinese takeaway to a candlelit dinner
not elvis but i'm a king like a welsh yul brynner
roll harder than a sausage (from Greggs?) nah, a ginster
walk in the bathroom see your grandma flick off to the minkster
got rappers on the rag when I rhyme
more pricks than a field of norwegian spruce pine
i'm like kevin kline in a fish called wanda
i don't come from pontypool, aberdare or from the rhondah
come from casnewydd, now live in the mids
got a pile of porno tapes and i'll get busy to them vids
when im feelin randy I keep the kleenex handy
cause a night of (sweet lovin) to me's a hand shandy
my cars so big, its like a mobile home
and Minks a stage-dwelling violent fuckin storm like a cyclone
put on my dancin shoes and i get down like travolta
see some tits i'm getting harder than the rock of gibralta
take my picture with your kodak, canon or minolta
find a pretty girl, get married then i'll ditch her at the altar
my name ain't walter, simon, jonathan or sidney
fuck battling for a pink slip, lets battle for your kidney!
thats how serious i am in this game
turned the lights on at blackpool and they spelt my fuckin name
no-taste rap critics say they can't feel my style
as i just cough another classic track up, like bile
from cornwall to the shetlands, kent to aberdeen
i'm a celebrity chef cooking up some fine rhyme cuisine
in the winter wrap my verses up warm, and in the summer i sweat words
my crew'll shit on you nerds, like birds
check my verbs, my verses are gifts, like from santa
kids consuming my rhymes like a 2 litre bottle of fuckin fanta
MCs days were numbered when I was born
cause they knew the mink-c'd leave em shook like ozzy osbourne
and leave em paralysed like paraplegics
then carried out the club in a bag, like river pheonix
all my joints sound like remixes, by world class producers
finish up my rhyme and then digest a bag of joosters
like a red rooster strutting on stage
and the girls in the cage are getting minimum wage
with bonuses for after-show deep throat sessions
because my crew are packing more meat than a delicatessen
sometimes wanna chill but heads be fiending for a lesson
guess the way i express is both a curse and a blessing
like Irn-Bru, my songs are constructed from girders
taste the flavour like your grandad sucking on a werthers
british like marks and sparks, more comfy than clarks
leave other rappers defunct like the Deutschmark
