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Its UK Hip-Hop but not as you know it...
Song Info
Genre
Charts
Peak #8,600
Peak in subgenre #4,671
Author
Mink-C
Rights
Mink-C
Uploaded
September 21, 2003
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.2 MB • 128 kbps • 0:00
Lyrics
I'm the beast of barbiturates, the phantom of 'phetamine
about to take you places that you ain't ever been
my rhymes are rated x cos they're scarier
than a fucking pit bull terrier
rippin children in the local area
if you fuck around i'll bury ya
got my shovel and a perrier
drop your ass in the fucking cemetary
and, I bring the knowledge like confusious
lay you out with a punch and then I start my ablutions
I come hard like a priest whose been kicked out of the church
your tracks like 3rd base without pete nice or Serch
M to the IN, K to the C
Blow rappers to smithereens, literally
Its no thing, break an MC like I'm blowin my nose
Ridiculous beats, Pickle the prose
Run the country like a jodpur wearing squire
Hear my lyrics of fire, admit ya gotta admire
my style, my flow, my whole persona
Make ya bleed out ya orifices, like ebola
Raffle Rhymes like a blue rinse does a tombola
Brothers biting me so much, they done wear out their molars
ain't braggin when I say that I know I'm good
Run the streets barefoot like I'm zola budd
i'm a Canibal, murderouslike an animal
you would think my name was hannibal
but I'm a fatter man, really does it matter man?
you fuckers talk as though I shop at Matalan
i raise red rags like a matador
kicking on a wack rappers door
and leave the bitch with a broken jaw
biting more beats than a crocodile
bitings more than just a style
i stick more kids than a peadophile
keep recordin tracks like my names Todd Shaw
never classed as a bore
i stash more grass than a herbivore
and, i gotta kick more shit than a footballer
cars not a staller
call out names like a bingo caller
and i can never ever rest
cos i'm passing the test
dismantle bitches like i'm Fred West
so you should change your fucking locks
hide all your rocks
mink-cee is coming straight out the box
I'm the slickest and sickest Briton thats hittin the mic
ya can't see me motherfucker like a cock in a dyke
do I hate pop rappers? don't start me
I'll end up hoppin mad like Heather Mills McCartney
or end up shootin glocks like my names Tony Martin
And end up running shit like Michael Schumacher in Karting
I'm the bigger, the badder, the better beatin the best
cos the Mink-C should just have an 'S' on my chest
I'm smooth like ice-cream, known on the vice scene
brothers gettin mad cos beatin me is like a pipe dream
I wreck shit, writin crazy rhymes like a dyslexic
tell bitches they fat and watch 'em become anorexics
heavyweight like audley harrison, find a bitch and harrass 'em
military style, like catterick fucking garrisson
no mercy for my victims, the ground is where i kick 'em
with a ho i never lick 'em, just stick 'em stick 'em stick 'em
i ain't no bitch, more like the reaper
I'm a triple band motorola, they're just a beeper
I'm a model for the next millenium, heads cranium
snaps, album verses more sought after than uranium
MCs eye my spot, wanna be in my position
But they Wishing, not dissing, I'll piss on their ammunition
More longevity that Spike Milligan and Peter Sellers
Stomp on the table like Bavarians in Beer Kellers
Come from Wales I ain't a yank
Roll on rappers like tanks and leave em hiding like they Anne Frank
Rhymes are tight like Botox
put away your glocks
Mink-C is coming straight out the box!
