| So welcome to the fat naked version of a great attempt
|
| A person who needs a quick detergent and a basic cleanse
|
| I’m coming certain like a sturdy vegetated stem
|
| Flirting with my brain again and perching on this breaking fence
|
| The word for me is take the services but pay the debts and never take offense
|
| You know I’m dirty and you rate the stench
|
| I leave you burning up and verging on a rape attempt
|
| In nothing but a skirt and gloves to learn to fucking make some friends
|
| Spend, all your cash at once on anything
|
| Except a gram of ketamine, or any slapper’s wedding ring
|
| You get the slow clap and clattered with adrenaline
|
| And whacked around the head until your neck flaps a flappy chin
|
| Sing, I wear a hash bib for hot rocks
|
| Ad libs are made of shit and cats piss you nobcock
|
| Knock knock, who’s there? |
| Who cares? |
| Can we cotch?
|
| I got a gram of posh, 20 Tramadols and have 'em washed
|
| So we can wash some crack and have a good old fashioned trammy off
|
| Take our trousers off and shout about it in an album, what
|
| Proud of being out of stock, I sell a bunch of better stuff
|
| I’m clever, fuck an everlasting effort like a severed cunt
|
| And fuck a club who bangs up a punter just for selling drugs
|
| Your lucky Toby never filled that pig’s head with petrol up
|
| So who’s the moralistic crusading cow on ice?
|
| The coward type who only shouts about it when he’s out at night
|
| And only counts the pounds and never spends
|
| So all his stories end in awkwardness with snore patterns pouring through his
|
| boring head
|
| So smell the roaring breath of CP and breathe deep
|
| As we breed a scene like a chief leaves his teepee (Keep clean!)
|
| Please, I get as bored as a Ouija
|
| Six speed course, I was born popping wheelies
|
| Now all applaud at my jaw dropping freebies
|
| You’re mopping stage floors and copping all of my CDs
|
| Remember this wild night with Scissor on whites driving
|
| Me hitting the vapes, sky high in the front wyling
|
| Dike, Sammy and Baxter in the back, they’re mad hyping
|
| No boombox, we be boxin a rap cypher
|
| Tiny car bouncing like slag when a man rides her
|
| Feds see the shit and then pull us with the sirens
|
| Car stinking of skunk, think that there’s more in the trunk
|
| Only the driver ain’t drunk, we’re fucked, ain’t faking a funk
|
| Gave 'em some bud, they took it, waved us along now
|
| Probably getting blazed to this song (nah, that’s raw)
|
| Got away cuz we’re above the law
|
| Got a name cuz they raw like cut veins when they pour
|
| Been poor, made change now we make change from it all
|
| Ain’t in the same lane as before, the name says it all (High Focus)
|
| Take a highly educated guess, my rhymes are motions
|
| That (?) with the 5 of the best strains, 3 types of nang cobras
|
| I am in the lions den, 3 eyes open
|
| Formulating plans to take out my opponents
|
| No lies, the cro flies, it flies potent
|
| Red eye, symbolising my mind in a moment
|
| Racing, skies part as I ascend through the cracks in the paving
|
| Pacing, life’s a taxing occasion
|
| Patience could turn you into a patient
|
| Don’t like your occupation? |
| Change it and stop complaining about your pain
|
| It’s your life you’re wasting
|
| Brain remains in a wastebin
|
| Make peace, take dreams, realise 'em and embrace 'em
|
| HF originate since day we been out on the stages
|
| We’re not about the status, it has taken us places
|
| This ain’t a label it’s a family who’s gracious
|
| Outrageous, out of our mind, out of the box and on a wavelength
|
| Forever elevating |
Song information On this page you can read the lyrics of the song Great Attempt , by - Dirty Dike. Song from the album Sucking on Prawns in the Moonlight, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп