| I wake late for a typical day
|
| Of getting pissed till it’s difficult, but isn’t it strange?
|
| It ain’t miserable, wishing that the limit would raise
|
| To a simple bit of spirit in my lyrical rage
|
| I riddle flipping pages that’s miracle laced
|
| Until you ring all your mates and tell them «listen to James»
|
| Tickle his brain and scribble his name like hitting the train
|
| A villainous mate you wouldn’t want a kick in the face
|
| Cause I gaze distant, I’ll play with your sisters
|
| And mate I’m as dangerous as pacing with scissors
|
| I’ll make hits blatantly making you face it
|
| You’re saved in my database list full of fake shits
|
| Take this! |
| Now I’m just wasted and laid back
|
| Inhale the vapours that raise from my eighth sack
|
| Jade-rapping James with the payback and mate that
|
| Is straight fact, breaking the scales like your waist fat
|
| My stage act collapses and now it’s back to my habitat
|
| Act like a lab rat trapped in an aggy rap
|
| And fuck carpet burns, she’ll get a scabby back
|
| Stabby stab stab till her fanny is a baggy gash
|
| And I’m just using rude words
|
| To scoop dirt, flirt with the tune, abuse my new verse
|
| Future first, think last, drink from a pink glass
|
| Lined with the brink, but I sink fast
|
| Wink glass eyes at the stars, but I can’t fly
|
| Can’t buy half the laughs in this harsh life
|
| I ask why and all I get is an odd look
|
| Of friends trying to answer this nonsense with God books
|
| It’s me missing maths and my head can’t figure sums
|
| Hitting drums, licking out your sister with a vicious tongue
|
| With a little run for your money, sprint quicker son
|
| I’ve listened to your lyrics for some spirit and there isn’t none
|
| So isn’t your mum a little bit dumb
|
| For letting six different husbands deliver the cum
|
| Some come rhythm-less, kick a fuss up and get your innards bust
|
| Scissored up viciously until your fucking pissing puss
|
| Plus giving sluts love with your little slug
|
| It’s sick as fuck, give it up bitches and listen up
|
| Cause oh dear you’re in trouble now, shut your mouth
|
| Dike’s coming out with a sound and it’s fucking loud
|
| Drown as my thunder cloud shouts out the underground
|
| Running round clubs with an ounce up his fucking snout
|
| Being me, that’s a big joke
|
| Never quit smoking and wear shit clothes at discos
|
| The nose-picking hobo hopes for a sick show
|
| Wishbone slips as I focus and tiptoe
|
| Spit flows doper than most of you pricks know
|
| Piss-soaked lyricist wishing that this shit blows
|
| Ghost float mission levitate with a head of snakes
|
| Never say never to the heavens when the devil waits
|
| Clever mates trying to beg when the record breaks
|
| Weapons raised, sabers displayed, let’s celebrate |