| Don’t get me started
|
| The new wave sound retarded
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| What d’you mean I can’t say retarded?
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| Whole world’s gone spasticated
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| What you an expert in spastic behaviour now?
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| Next you’ll be telling me I’m not special
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| Yeah, it’s kind of dreadful
|
| Is-it's just a vessel
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| P-p-play the game son
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| What you think that I get my name from?
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| Man a get a cold monkey shoulder now
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| You can break all the rules and not change one
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| Back to square uno
|
| Wrap them up, pack your bag for the bureau
|
| Heard about this and that but
|
| End of the day they didn’t do the do though
|
| Shame that, that’s some shit you can’t claim back
|
| Can’t say jack, can’t change the fact that you’re regurgitating that same crap,
|
| now
|
| It’s hard to stay inspired
|
| Or maybe it’s the way I’m wired
|
| Or maybe its the way I’m made
|
| But that wave you’re on is just a waste of fire
|
| Hold up, you’ll never turn me into a product
|
| Swear to god he got knocked out still got up
|
| See the way the boy work rate, just shut up
|
| Shit, I didn’t even mean to blow the whole squad up
|
| Duh duh duhdu, add another dollop, wallop
|
| Everything I’ve said man I’ve honoured
|
| Put the whole game on its head with the fodder
|
| Oh gosh, that’s a lot of gash you’ve swallowed
|
| As I was saying, these lot love a bit a drama playing
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| In the background, and they can’t live without it
|
| That mind control, and that darn brain (Mmmm)
|
| Only human, gotta work on your own improvement
|
| You can move on the day to day or
|
| Sign up, join a movement
|
| And upgrade to a humanoid
|
| And join all the slaves who stayed employed
|
| And pump babies out and let strangers raise them
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| Cos you ain’t got time and there ain’t a choice
|
| And you’re pissed cos you think the whole world’s against you
|
| And it is convincing, you’re paranoid
|
| Mad annoyed cos you want that ride and die chick
|
| To shake that shit like a polaroid, I know
|
| It’s not real, can’t convince them they’ve got pills
|
| Mix them into your routine
|
| Crush 'em into your square meals
|
| Tell me how does that d-dat'that there feel
|
| Knocking back with them spare wheels
|
| Spare me all of them details
|
| All I care about are these force fields
|
| Oi
|
| Death moves
|
| Defibrillators and test tubes
|
| You flick the pages I fill them up
|
| I’ve been sick for ages, your rent’s due
|
| Flight mode, silky smooth as my night robe
|
| Still rock a crack in my iPhone
|
| While I unicycle that tightrope
|
| Ay
|
| The fuck you writing?
|
| You lot are so unexciting
|
| How’d you get so fuckin boring?
|
| How’d you be so uninspiring?
|
| Your whole style is uninviting
|
| Go on keep on typing, we’ll see who’s smiling
|
| Spread fear can’t tell me shit
|
| Yeah, get it lit cos I’m a fucking vibes-man (yeah)
|
| Bars o’clock, but only when you think that we’ve started off
|
| I never knew hip-hop would take me this far
|
| When I get goin' it’s hard to stop
|
| And I never got along with lady luck
|
| So don’t be surprised if she pass you up
|
| I got 6 million ways to die in my head
|
| You got 300 mics in my larger top, now
|
| Turn it up, tickle that red till they’re burning up
|
| Boy ain’t scared like Bernie Mac, north London B-neck murderer
|
| On these steps might rock up the vertebrae, herbala
|
| Fetch an interpreter
|
| Why would you wanna life of servitude when you could just work on the Merkaba?
|
| For me, it’s all about the curvature
|
| They ain’t nothin but part of the furniture
|
| Every mark that I make stay permanent
|
| Come kneel at the church of the worshippers
|
| Make a meal out of anything I dirty up
|
| Work it out, don’t take it personal
|
| Especially when I bust the proverbial, it’s terminal
|
| But let’s just burn it all down
|
| Wow! |
| Is it? |
| Really? |
| Now?
|
| Wow! |
| Is it? |
| Really? |
| Now?
|
| Wow! |
| Is it? |
| Really? |
| Now?
|
| Wow! |
| Is it? |
| Really? |
| Now?
|
| Wow! |
| Is it? |
| Really? |
| Now? |