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