| See it’s funny how this life spin
|
| Only ever seem to get it when I write sin
|
| With a regret I feel the light dim gradually
|
| Step into the darkness and do it with a rye grin
|
| The name’s Bradley
|
| I’m up early, standing weary in the cold steams
|
| It’s 7:30 — check it out I’m knocking on
|
| I’m getting dough is the theory in full effect
|
| And functional, on time, punctual, the velvet parker’s strung
|
| Cos paying dues is a life time mission
|
| A pipeline vision in a strife-torn prison
|
| My thoughts choked and dreams broke and no wishes
|
| Ever coming truer, I refuse to be restricted
|
| The way’s think — especially when you play this
|
| And realise you’re a slave to chasing the pay slips
|
| Wanna be wasted in places I can’t pronounce
|
| Wanna be faceless to strangers, a charming lout
|
| From Terror Australis, I’m known to rock hardest
|
| On a microphone I’m a hot artist
|
| So get the party people plastered, year’s are now mastered
|
| Spears in the stars and sun, the town bastard
|
| You see it’s funny how this life spin
|
| Only ever seem to get it when I write sin
|
| With a regret I feel the light dim gradually
|
| Step into the darkness and do it with a rye grin
|
| The name’s Bradley
|
| Spark it with a small flame
|
| To the people playing in it yo it’s all game
|
| To the people on the planet yeah it’s all pain
|
| Name’s Bradley and strut be my forte, do it always
|
| Aiyyo Kinger from Jack, smoke black from green weed
|
| Who came in the game, filled up quick, Kareem Reid
|
| Sean Price a mother fuckin' bastard beast
|
| With a bullet that touch kids like Catholic priests
|
| Clap you peeps, smash your fleet, trap your neice
|
| In the corner, do what I wanna — her ass is sweet
|
| Thug African, drug trafficing can make you a dough
|
| Coke habit in the Sahara, I’m making it snow
|
| Got a habbit from grabbin rashins and making no blow
|
| Float Joe rapidly running, too steep and could fall (?)
|
| That’s when I’m packing em' down, smackin em' down
|
| Clappin' around with a '44 Magnum to pound, blast it around
|
| Snatchin' the crown, Sean Price is the King
|
| Get on your knees bitch! |
| And kiss the ring — motherfucker
|
| I spent 10 years, prime of my life smoking on cigarettes
|
| Blend beers with Bundaberg Rum and still I didn’t get
|
| Having my moments, I’m a bad drunk
|
| Brad Strut, on me’s the onus time to stand up (brand new!)
|
| Finding the purpose, I’m a fan still (Brad Zill)
|
| You had your chance but didn’t grab on
|
| Had you taken a minute just to scope out
|
| No doubt you would have witnessed I’m a low-down profile
|
| So here we go now sitting with a pen in hand
|
| No expectations, waiting patient for my 10 grand
|
| Me and my friends man dismantle microphones
|
| Devise your best plan to even try invoke
|
| You better write the quote «chiller than a pandemic»
|
| This man sent me, time to kill it — this is fantastic!
|
| My brand’s manic, you stand in the paddock
|
| I seperate the herd with my words automatic |