| You see, these rappers are unhappy
|
| With the price of the gold card
|
| While on this mic I’m like
|
| Ice in a cold glass
|
| There’s no doubt
|
| I manhandle a track
|
| And break this bitch down
|
| Like Bam Bam with his bat
|
| You players act pussy
|
| Like Jessica Rabbit
|
| I’mma hit you with some shit
|
| That get ya head in a hammock
|
| I’m that poet burst
|
| On that park bench to smoke
|
| The only Superman that knows
|
| Clark Kent’s a joke
|
| A fist fuck freedom
|
| I fight for my right
|
| To hit the lab with a pad
|
| And have the time of my life
|
| You’re damn right,
|
| I been sparkin' up the highs
|
| Takin' flight in the night
|
| With my armored butterflies
|
| But notice I throw bricks
|
| I’m heaven sent, bro
|
| It’s no shit, my flow’s sick
|
| I represent, so
|
| Drown in my dreams
|
| When you look at my eyes
|
| And just bounce to the beat
|
| And prove the boogie’s alive
|
| Hey yo, Sydney (what what)
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Hey yo, Brissy (what what)
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| See, i dream to be
|
| On TV flashin' my balls
|
| Throwin' it up for my lads
|
| Like graff on a wall
|
| That’s right, we gotta maintain
|
| And struggle through the drama
|
| And stay on the rise
|
| Like bubbles in my lager
|
| But right now
|
| You better make some way
|
| For new talent that pretty much
|
| Covers state to state
|
| But when it’s all said and done
|
| I’ll be riding the back
|
| Of Uncle Sam gettin' drunk
|
| With my eyes on his cash
|
| Why you pursuin' the cash, bro?
|
| I’m doin' the math flows
|
| Spittin' more dirty shit
|
| Than players chewin' tobacco
|
| Raggin' they glassfuls
|
| And how they pimp slap hoes
|
| But I think I’ll be less bored
|
| Watchin grass grow, asshole
|
| I’m not a new face
|
| I know this record shit’s
|
| A big loot race
|
| They asked to see my tour budget
|
| I held up my shoelace
|
| You could only afford two plane tickets
|
| And some toothpaste
|
| Hey yo, Eso, help me
|
| Shove Izm in my suitcase
|
| Hey yo, Melbourne (what what)
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Adelaide, (what what)
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| So you got the first record
|
| At the hip hop store
|
| Yeah, that shit was fresh
|
| Man, but this is sophomore
|
| (aw yeah)
|
| And I ain’t even gotta ask
|
| If you feel us
|
| You know that Bliss N Eso throws
|
| The illest bash in the village
|
| Oh you know, bro
|
| It’s those nutty loco kids
|
| Get the crowd bouncin' like
|
| A sea of cats on pogo sticks
|
| We on that next level
|
| Droppin' turds, bombin' ya whole plane
|
| 2008 rap Jonathan Coltrane
|
| My lab was built great
|
| Plush leather couches and silk drapes
|
| Try furniture made out of planks
|
| Of wooden milk crates
|
| We both underground blokes
|
| Spittin' profound quotes
|
| Sippin' the local lager
|
| Mingling with the town folk
|
| Just two white boys
|
| And a half Arab man
|
| Travel the land in an
|
| Old busted thrash caravan
|
| See, hip hop finds us
|
| When we feel all lost
|
| So we gon' ride this motherfucker
|
| 'til the wheels fall off
|
| Hey yo, Perth (what what)
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Hey yo, Tassie (what what)
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Hey yo, Canberra (what what)
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Byron Bay, (what what)
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| To the rest of the land
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight
|
| Your style is mad tight |