Lyrics From the Future - Dirty Dike, Slang Immaculate, Stig of the Dump

From the Future

They all got stars in their eyes
Bars isn’t tight
And their heart ain’t never as hard as the hype
I’m what you like so
S-M Smoke My Beef!
Dirty, let’s get some pussy
I know you stash mad gash
Why don’t you introduce me to three?
Nah fuck a groupie, it’s time
London switched rap for dance music and grime
And they told me Brighton was hot
Brum and Bristol all up in the scene
No disrespect there’s only Cambridge now see
Middle-East of the country, baby, hardest to please
Apart from Dike and Big Slang
They only really feeling Baxter and Key
And Mancunian
Don’t feel no way nobody hating
Just what the fuck you’re doing isn’t entertaining
(Uh-huh. uh-huh)
Yeah swaggerdaddy can’t jack it
Cause soon as you lean it forwards
I’ma lean it backwards on the track shit
Body motherfuckers, standard
A man ain’t from where you from
You don’t be rapping in my accent
Guess who just got back from the boozer
Drinking himself into a stupor — loser!
Living pissed up without a view for the future
But still stay a step ahead just like my huge gut
You wanna know the truth bruv?
Pussy, weed and alcohol’s the only things I do love
Plus I couldn’t give two fucks!
Like having brewer’s droop
While tryna twos up a crew slut!
It’s rap’s Larry David
The hatred made me take it back to the basics
My tongue twists like them K-Swiss Trainers
While these young pricks tongue-kiss their mate’s anus
I ain’t tryna make it famous
I do it to escape
Not for my name in the papers
Fuck the love of it
That ain’t paying my wages
So if you don’t know me
Don’t ask me for favours
Laters!
Fuck the clichés, meet Jake the new baron
Spit a two-bar that renames your crew Sharon
You rappers move
I don’t want your tunes, you have 'em
Loose cannon clashing like my garms
Rocking crew patterns
But I don’t do fashion, I do talent
Do passion, do tracks
Do yats 'til their backs do spasms
Neck a few gallons of booze and lose balance
Hoof that and straight take off like your tune hasn’t
There’s a huge pack of crews rapping average
Who couldn’t get their shit out with a huge pack of laxatives!
So you stand and grapple with your bodily deposits
My crew’s back banging like the brothel in my closet
So please keep your mouth in the bottom of your pockets
When the CP’s about, never bother with the gossip much
Hockin' up phlegm, set it off with the Dr. Skuff
Dike, Beats, Slang and Mr Constant, Drop it bruv!
You are now in tune to Dikestar Delegates
And Contact Play while Mr. Constant selects the breaks
Rowdy like a mental case
On a lack of medication
That’s except I don’t fit like the threads I take
Anyway Contact Play spitting with delegates
Kick like that Ong-Bak brey
Missing his elephant
No one’s a bad influence
I’m Mr. Mellowness
No girls that won’t speak to me
Cause I’m a friend of his
We’re just your everyday, common or garden hedonist
Some settled with kids, others are sexual terrorists
Or friends with benefits, depends on your opinion
If rap is your religion, I’m that heretic to wreck your kingdom
What d’you expect from this and that producer
I can tell it from the credits
I better ready the heavy future
You’re now in tune to the old next level shit
Spit more, better and with much less respect, bitch!
My name’s me and I’m the geezer from the ground floor
Sorta sound down, snort I’m not about war
I’m not allowed poor my dick takes the fucking piss
But I’d cut my wrists before I’d give up and love a bitch
I got drugs to sniff, big stuff to bloody shift
Big dubs to paint with my shitcunts and fucking pricks
Spliff bunnin in my room, trapped in
Planning tunes like I’m listening to New Jack Swing
I’ve heard the truth that’s grim
It’s dim lit and dark avenues
A shitstack of patterns with a binbag of have-to-dos
Think that I’m acting loose
It’s pissflap the quackpig
I’ve been sick since Pissman the Captain
And still average wanking
I live by the slog
I’m a find a fuck pig
And have her dick behind the trunk
«Agh Mr Dike’s a cunt»
Stand up if you didn’t like his stuff
Mouth shut and pull your fingers out your cunt
Call me the comatose cosmonaut
Cop a part cosmic
Break codes with a single thought
The Ice Age Ironman slowly thaws
With his ogre jaws standing so deep on the ocean floor
Rate my face twitch and the way my brain ticks
Limp-legged hunchback, billin fifty-eight spliffs
Until my face splits I spit bars that mean business
Like the shades of an agent in the matrix
May stick the same disc on every playlist
Where you play shit cause every track’s amazing
And when someone’s like («Who the fuck is this?»)
It’s a guaranteed fact that Mr. Scissortongue is playing
I’m moonwalking down your pavements
Rockin Hammer’s crime fighting shoes
And looking like a vagrant!
Dancing with cavemen
Still seem to rinse some proper soulful rhythm and blues
Like the California Raisins
It’s the herb-thirsty writer
Cursing on Dirty’s side and
Puffing on some durban that’s certain to murkalise ya
Immersed in the earth slurp turf throwin fireballs
The way we’re living is like we’re not even hire-able
So being criminal is certainly more desirable
You want clean cut
Then a set of surgical knives will do
I’m getting higher than burglars
On the pergola
Getting into your world
And then sitting there disturbing you
Until you start to switch
Cause you thinking of turning murderous
It’s too late for you
Some vultures done circled you
I still fly, chilling with that turbulence
I live life, a million and one purposes
The main two I service
A verballist-stroke-herballist
I kill you inadvertently
Triggering some emergency
They always think a pattern
I’m not a Doctor, why nurse that shit
With no ability they tried to see me
Blindfolded, walking the plank that leads to the sea
When I need herbs, like the third world needs rice
You need words, like a mask in a bank heist
Fuck a mic!
You can barely hold a conversation!
My rhymes have got the power to move you like immigration
Never mistaken, I was born in the wastebin
Mesmerised by the fucking snare that I’m chasing
Just waiting
For my album to be released
And my dick’s up in your mouth
Like a swab from the police
is a beast
He’ll degrade you like a strip search
On some next shit like when you found out that your dick works
Your chance to spit first
My stance is stood perched
You’re brain-dead like your real name was lurch
You switch up, used to love boom-bap
But like a junkie hit dick cause you scared of the old track
I’ve got thoughts running round my head like they’re speeding
Fuck herbs, things could be much worse seeming
I’ll never stop dreaming, time to stay believing
And naturally turn shit dark like an evening
I levitate, close my eyes like I meditate
Generate a heavy stone
Roam hitting better tapes
Here to take the something with real hip hop
To let everyone know it’s time
Like really big clocks
Tick but don’t tock
Lose the plot like a needle
The one’s that you see looking fucked up
They’re my people!
And keep what I speak true
Because the deep will
Make you want to get up
Go out and seek sequels
If I said I was a rapper
Would you preconceive
But I’d bet you’d get it totally different to what is me
If you want name dropping
I’m BVA MC
Blow chunks of wisdom when I talk sickly