Lyrics OFFIE - Cult of The Damned, Lee Scott, Milkavelli

OFFIE

Split personality, fuck it like there’s two o' me
That was back then, I’m twice the guy I used to be
Riding on the Jubilee in silence usually
Kill the conversation, so I can write its eulogy
The lights are on like someone’s home
But they’ve gone asleep, with Bronski Beat on repeat
Small Town Boy Meets World, fucks it and bails
With martian dirt under his nails, I’m way too hungry to fail
I scran me takeout, drink me bottle from the inside and smashed me way out
With glass splinters in me Air Max, wifed off but still single if your bird
asks, laa
Ey
Phone broken like my scales
Smoking, slow motion like a snail
Ey, got me posted like the mail
DVLGNG, holy like the grail, like ey
The lonely bunch, I spin 50 mcs like Tony Touch but don’t touch me
I’m so touchy, unforgiving
I hold a grudge in a cobra clutch but don’t rub me, the wrong way
A long day, don’t rush me
Hoes love me, drag me through this cold country like a snow husky
In the bright white 'Lo rugby don’t trust me
Dr. Evil, I stroke dusty
Raps crooner, born in the wrong era
I shook hands with Sinatra, should have been The Rat Packs fourth member
Pre-YouTube, pre-camera
They tried find me on the Google Image, get the error message silly
Redacted, invisible, enigmatic
The search engine returns zero
Case file gone, ace in a hole
Move on the beat then disappear like Jason Bourne
Face the facts, I’ve been evading paparaz since day one
How dya think I stay so young?
They call me the gun, I bang and I shoot
See me coming?
Now you saw me, now you’re done for
Yo, don’t give it biguns to me pal
I’ll eye gauge ya eyes out like Eyal
Bill, evidently ill
Yellin' in your grill while I’m telling you to chill
For real, I’m too real, Bill Shakes, my pill face is blue steel
Body odour smells of medi bud, treat your gangster racket like a tennis club
I got all the juice, what dya want love?
Yeah we running shit, Blah Records dot gov
You know the name, Blackburn Killa Cam
I sip a can, sniff a gram and write a business plan
I say potato, you say potato and somehow you’re still in the wrong,
cause I say so
Furthermore I ain’t digging your little raps
If you get a feature, understand I did it for the bag
I’m so wise, foresight with sore eyes
Getting paid untruthfully, bumping raw hide
Rinsing off my third eye with pure fluoride
It’s a cold grind, I go on tour with my warped mind
And I can do this all night but I won’t
You can tell by the rhymes that I wrote
I might be the goat, nothing to prove but it’s nice just to gloat
Putting rappers on mute, that’s a silent approach
Ey yo, N-double O-M, Y-L-S
Say it backwards if it doesn’t make sense
I’m sleeping with the cousin of death
Call you a cunt to your face but say nice things under my breath
Drinking 100 percent, playing Russian roulette
Watching sticky fingers playing Russian rudette
Talked you out of suicide and then jumped to my death
Said I’d put you in my will but nothing was left
All the money was spent on government debts and drunken bets
Dying in my coffin under dressed
I want it all and nothing less
Even if I had it I’d be unimpressed
I thump me chest and knock you vultures nests out the tree
I walk around with an air of greatness surrounding me
The son they never had, your Mum and Dad are very proud of me
You’ve never met me yet you vouch for me
Fuck a boundary, out me mind is where I’m bound to be
Slap you cause someone you vaguely know was talking down to me
Unrelated, there’s something powdery on me Audi key
Unabated, understated, underrated, fuck a favourite
(Cult)
(Of)
(The)
(It's the damned)
(Cult)
(Of)
(The)
(It's the damned)
(Cult)
(Of)
(The)
(It's the damned)