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peace and love from the northern hemisphere
Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #2,154
Peak in subgenre #863
Author
Kenny Dixon, Phil Siarri
Rights
Kenny Dixon 2010
Uploaded
June 14, 2005
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.7 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Lyrics
Smoked out guitar strummer, Playing vibes to the British summer,
I make the bass kick like a heavy-footed drummer,
That’ll be the day when I pull up in the hummer,
With my thumb cocking back the hammer on that gun,
I’m not that type of rapper mate,
And if you wanna debate I’ll leave you in a stalemate,
When I walk I say make room as the great makes way,
Hands on the mic before I’m even on stage,
Enraged using these bars like the bars of a cage,
Holding these rhymes on top of the lines on the page,
Fakes always run for the gauge,
So I’m serving them with sage on my mum’s best plates,
Cus when I show my face they all fade away,
Like a song that’s mixed by a radio deejay,
Gotta get a job gotta get it today,
I gotta get some cash man yo I gotta get paid,
Gotta get laid, I gotta get my end away,
For gods sake, yo I gotta give my head a good shake,
So flip the beat Phil I need to rewind,
Need to let these people know about the rhymes I design,
The words that I spit are just pictures for the blind,
And a way of life for the greater good of mankind…
And a way of life for the greater good of mankind…
Leave your crew shocked and amazed,
With their eyebrows raised,
Kicking six sick rhymes with the skill backstage, x2
Do it for the love I don’t for the wage,
British hip hop pays sh** so why would I anyway,
Till I’m rolling in the paper, I’ll be rolling up these papers,
Serving mc`s like a restaurant waiter,
Can I take your order, can I take your coat,
Can I take the breath from your chest and your throat?
Can I take the number one spot in the name of the hot,
Fiddy did it yeah, but all he did was get shot,
The city limits are getting hot like teapots,
So if you stock crops better keep yourself in earshot,
When the pigs are getting restless you better fill the trough,
When the pigs are getting close you better rethink the plot,
I rethought and then I retorted,
And now I’m not uneasy around these police forces,
And now I can sleep with both eyelids,
Made a few quid’s but I’d get bruised let time forbid,
Just a kid, but growing up quicker than most,
Never was the kid with jumpers for goalposts,
Peoples like “who’s this?” nobody knows,
A small sick kid spitting with that lyrical flow,
The cogs and wheels keep turning, I keep churning out rhymes,
And blowing out smoke as I’m toking these bines,
Think I’ll implant a biro inside my mind,
Cus I cant word the things I see and feel inside sometimes,
The life I’ve been assigned is too close to the line,
In between the big screen and the middle class grime,
Leave your crew shocked and amazed,
With their eyebrows raised,
Kicking six sick rhymes with the skill backstage, x2
Do it for the love I don’t for the wage,
British hip hop pays sh** so why would I anyway,
UK…
