Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Future Posse Cut One Thousand, artist - Dirty Dike. Album song Return of the Twat, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 12.05.2013
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: High Focus
Song language: English
Future Posse Cut One Thousand |
I was thinking like we just, all get together, in between now and when we it |
out and just all get pissed in Holloway and just like have a cypher in the |
booth and just record it and then just like mash up a couple of like, |
you know like minute and a half pieces and bits of cyphering, and then that’s |
like exclusive freestyle shit cause the kids love that |
Yeah yeah yeah. |
that sounds good |
And then that’s, that’s 500 quid |
Shit son |
Basically, guaranteed no brainer |
We could just spend that on strawberry daiquiris and mopeds |
Exactly that’s booze money |
Ehehe. |
I’m rentin' a moped. |
Deff. |
We’ve got’a get some motorbikes |
Shit, the last time I was in a moped I was like «weeewrereeeeeeggghh waaaahhhh» |
Yeah, uh, it’s all. |
It's all distorted. |
And its awkward, I stab an orphan with an orchid |
And pork sword it, then I feed it to a swordfish |
Awesome shit, shaving a pasty |
I’m raping David Blaine with an ashtray |
He’s like, «Please stop it» |
He’s Wallace and she’s Gromitt |
Bangin' on the moon, strangle a baboon |
Kick him in the fanny then I bang it with a broom |
I’m in lesbian prison |
Dying on my own, cryin' at the throne |
Violent with the bone |
Pull the bone off and snap if in half |
I’m just havin' a laugh |
Are we ready? |
Are we ready? |
Are we ready? |
I’m just havin' a laugh |
Are we ready? |
R-r-ready |
I I I I I-I'm just havin' a laugh |
These years are gold years, I won’t ever be rich |
Fuck a life I’ma live mine whatever it is |
I’ll get in a whip and drive like a hedonist prick |
Forgettin' I’m pissed and high not to mention the sniff |
I never question what I got in my brain |
I’m not afraid, I’m the most honest nov' in the game |
With a gob like a drain, I’m obnoxious and lazy |
And still gettin' props in a cotch full of ladies, baby |
And I ain’t gonna play unless you pay me |
And make me a shake eggs bacon or baked beans |
Never catchin' feelings actin' weak and all emotional |
I simply catch a beat when I’m erratic and I vocal all |
Sociable, overly so, but fuck passive |
I chat shit loads and you know my tongue’s magic |
My drug habit and clothes are both free |
Till I come home blagging in this homeless bloke’s jeans |
Hi, (Hello) my names Steven (What?) |
Would you like a little bit of company this evening? |
(Uh) |
You can bring the wine (Ooh) I’ll get the cheese and (Lovely) |
Nah fuck that let’s get absolutely steaming! |
Tell the bouncer I’ma bring a gram of weed in |
Back stage at a rave with the grave chief’n |
Bag a bag of beef till I start to lose the feelin' in my face |
Smash the place till we’re hangin' from the ceiling |
(Team Hate!) Team Hate, SMB, that’s the link-up |
Truck a load but the whole party stink up |
There’s a prize at the bottom love, drink up |
Fuck the respect, I want the money and my dick sucked |
Hawaiian shirt on my back (Splash) |
Cool Runnings, rockin' that John Candy swag |
In fact what you want is penis |
So I tell her that she’s better on top like my team is |
Whose that dashing young exec making power moves in the board room |
Who told his secretary to never put your calls through? |
Not me |
But picture that level of ignorance |
And triple it and I will still be more rude, fuck your crew |
I’m like Jaws, you’re more like Jaws 2 |
Same sorta thing, not as good, poor you (Aww) |
I’m like Bishop but with more juice |
Unzip my flies then I put them in your soup (Word play) |
Word to my potential unborn kids |
Rappers forfeit and turn yellow like jaundice |
Don’t like my shit? |
Well horses for courses |
But my guess is you’re the sort of prick |
Who thinks ballin' would be scorin' with a Geordie Shore chick |
During a Majorca trip you probably saw her in The Sport, that cost 40 quid |
My name is Dr. Syntax I’m on some awesome shit |
But you already knew that didn’t you, of course you did |
It’s pannin' out and I ain’t found no gold yet |
Find me where the surface is wet but there’s no mould yet |
I’m all in and rappers start to fold bets the stage before an old vet |
Puttin' holes in circles where the soul left |
Blow clefts through smoke rings to test my aim |
Don’t play notes just B flat linin' them again |
Keep what I C sharp 'cause this world can get insane |
Fuck lies, fuck blame, fuck pride, fuck shame |
I’m a simple creature, gimme a dame and big sack of reefer |
And I’ll smile like my dicks making a mouth deeper, a west of sav speaker |
Spring a leak in a steady flow to zone on another bangin' Dike feature |
Shit I might teach ya, might not |
Might make you spack out and kick a hole in your right speaker |
Tryina make this music ugly but beautiful |
So kids go «eurgh!», but not the head because it’s musical |
So. |
if you hate my guts you can choke on my balls |
And I’ll take a picture of it just to post on your wall |
I ain’t blaggin' you up, trust me I’m an arrogant cunt |
A savage a drunk fuck and apparently scum |
Just because I get my kick out of embarrassing chumps |
And taggin' their drums, yeah I’m a vandal for fun |
Smokin' fags just to damage my lungs |
Screamin' life’s too short while I’m necking neat brandy and rum |
I do music for a livin', I ain’t gettin' a job |
Who the fuck’s gonna employ a stole veteran slob |
That turns up to his midday shift at 7 o’clock |
And pisses in the boss’s office while he’s telling him off? |
So you can catch me lookin' smashed with a spliff and a beer |
Feedin' a fat heffer chicken while I’m lickin' her ear |
It’s 5 AM and my mission is clear, I need to bust a fuckin' nut |
And there ain’t no other women in here |
Aye yo man I hold weight and control these fakes |
Eatin' chocolate cake, sippin' a protein shake |
Fat face flows, and the track plays through |
All these fake little rats in the trap they chose |
V to the fucking E to the fucking R to the B |
The initial is T, I’m fuckin' large |
That’s right, we rock homeless fashion |
Might spit into the crowd show no compassion |
Fools imaginations are overactive |
Oh you’re actin', I’ll burn you and mold the plastic |
To a new shape, two face, fuck the fake hype |
A new aim too shame struck with snake bite |
Venom in the veins, sendin' them insane |
Rushin' through the blood, intended for the brain |
So you’d do well to remember these damn names |
It’s the new faces of the derelict campaign |
Screamin' in the face of every screen and peen receiver |
Was the Baxstar starkers in the field of steaming ether |
Yeah you see him, crack hands mahoosive on a slappin' spree |
Slug a slug backward off the Travel Tavern balcony |
So how could she watch her personality evaporate |
Curdle in the corner and contaminate a tanqueray |
With tears, tears, bitter sweet tears |
While we’re fuckin' up the jam, with a spliff in each ear |
This year, shits getting fucking fucked up |
Round 2 acid prawn summer uncut |
See the top shelf smut barren plummet untouched |
From the sky settle safely in the blood and guts bruv |
Well done, recruiting for my rebel terror cell |
Selling second hand remains from the day heaven fell |
And congealed in the kitchen of every desert hell |
Is a mouldy eyed chief in a cracked metal shell let’s move |
These are the words that my brain is tellin' me to stick down |
On a shitty crumbled ugly fuckin' piece of paper |
I was thinking what the fuck he’s goin' on about |
But it just told me to shut the fuck up and ignite the flavor |
So I listen to the feeble flappin' muscle in my skull |
And put the pen back to the sheet until the ink would fit |
To be honest everything I’ve ever written in my life has been abysmal |
(Why?) 'Cause I’m a stupid heap of shit, I’m such a dick |
The most selfish twat you’ll ever meet, trust me |
Ask any person that I have ever known |
In my entire life and they’ll confirm that Edward Scissortongue |
Is hands down the biggest fucking cunt inside the country |
Plus I’m fucking stingy, I top load my zoots |
And I won’t drive you home to the village to the city |
I swear to god that if you look at me again |
I’ll shit my pants and start flinging fucking flaming lumps like frisbees |
Oi toss pot do you watch whats Top Of The Pops? |
Nah, I cotch with Dot Cotton hot boxin the dots |
And what, I’m not bothered if apocalypse drops |
I’ll be fox trotting bollocks with a bottle of scotch |
With god’s comet? |
Stop waffling 'cause probably not |
Shop coffas shop shottas got us watchin' a clock |
Scotch bonnet hot molotov off the top |
To polyphonic pop sonics, rock proper or what? |
I’m on a mission, that isn’t shit to do in spittin' writtens |
I’m tryna bring a difference to kids in bitter Britain |
If you ain’t got the time to take to listen to the wisdom |
Then I ain’t got the time to waste to kill the cynicism |
I never had the time of day for givin' it the big 'en |
When I spit, I spit it sick for the spirits of inhibition |
It’s the Mr. Kizzakizzum with a dirty double D cup |
A pair of massive tits keep smugglin' your peanuts |
It’s Big Flips the dangler, microphone damager |
Goin' through the green like a mutha fuckin' rambler |
Head’s spinnin', metaphorical jazz |
Still steppin' on the road rockin' nothin' but old rags |
Tees I’ve had for years and my jeans that are so sag |
Got particles of dust in the wallet but no cash |
All the dough I had i done spend it on chro' bags |
Mixed it up with pizz until memories fade to black, it’s |
Pointless to repent when there’s no way to go back |
Like a fetus in a jar after a car crash |
Disaster’s a par fact, I’m pavin' them bars of hash |
While you’re screwin' at your zoogie complainin' of hard ash |
You’re a rookie I’m a lad, look at me I pay in cash |
Cause I’m fillin' out this venue the fans are just fuckin' fab |
I’m a smash like glass on the concrete when it be dash |
Real rapper bring it back, call it zoogie man slide |
You can guarantee that Leaf is high |
So many clouds in my room it’s like my house is above the sky |
No lie that’s my life never lost a love |
Son I put it on to beat like a boxer’s glove |
Workin' the sub like I’m in the Navy |
You know the claps comin' like when the crowd’s goin' crazy |
Son of Lee son of Davey |
Bring a summary like there’s war comin' lately |
That’s how these cunts made me |
I don’t feel that hip-hop's represented |
The music for the poor stood where the rich sent it |
They’re a joke and never been a lyricist |
The closest thing to seeing pussy was the mirror images |
Don’t take the risk cause you ain’t half as nice |
And will remain unknown like the secrets of the after life |
In a world trying to search for the answer |
A riddle through your mind just like a brain cancer |
Ah hahaha haaaaa haaaa haaaaaa |