| Check, as soon as I’ve animated the track, contaminated the listener,
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| Mr. D-Rapht the man that painted the picture.
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| Spit your criptic codes to split the roads and
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| quick to throw a hit if you stick your nose in.
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| Like dicks I’m chosen to unload and bring life
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| into a world that’s turning into hell by night.
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| Sell your light (Cellulite) to the darkness like Oprah’s backside,
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| but sticking it to em harder than Ron Jeremy’s Jap’s eye.
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| Capsize your vessel you’re wrestling with the great white.
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| Rock a sharper set than Danos Direct steak knives.
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| Take life for granted and you’re branded for slaughter,
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| take flight but landed in hot water.
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| I’m borderline, but brought up with nothing,
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| but tough enough to never be caught up in anything
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| that’s gonna be falling short of
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| my vision of how I’m gonna be living my life.
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| Better make the right decision is never given it twice
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| You can’t flex
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| Or even step to this kid
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| But I seize ya (Seizure) like an epileptic fit.
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| Cats caught amnesia,
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| forgetting that mortar stepping
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| on stages like Nicholas cage
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| brandishing the weapon.
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| We could face off or I could rip your face off
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| and spit shards of steel while your bitch kneels and tastes cock.
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| Make of it what you want.
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| I take what I will.
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| Drop lyrics like acid.
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| Here’s a jagged little pill
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| that’s hard to swallow.
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| Tough act too.
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| Drown out your whole crew like the day after tomorrow.
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| Ice age flows.
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| I change weather patterns.
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| Re-arrange the structure of the earths crust,
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| shatter atoms.
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| Smack you back to the dark ages with one verse.
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| Snap your head back like a car crash with one word.
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| Shit verbally.
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| You whack try-hards and Richard geres gerbil
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| I mean your act died in the ass
|
| Unleash my anger in the form of a scripture.
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| I paint a picture with words and emerge the victor.
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| In a gladiator forum.
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| Picture which you rip to bits before you tabulate the warning.
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| I’ll force-feed you humble pie
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| and wash it down with a cool glass of sour grape juice.
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| You wanna rumble try.
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| It seems I’ve developed an appetite to devour fake crews.
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| Make no excuses or question how we work.
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| Clandestien drops and you react like a knee-jerk.
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| I get it cracking like Guy Fawks right.
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| Step to the mic and watch the stage lights blacken.
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| Witnessing only swift flashes of chrome
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| and glare of eyes.
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| Verses to make the hair on the back of your neck rise and stand up
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| at attention, now mention
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| Deststien new banter.
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| Prey and hell follows with him.
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| Who’d you expect, Robbie Williams?
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| Nah cunt let me entertain you.
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| Guarantee nothing but a totally insane view.
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| Back with the main crew who hate you.
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| The last Syllabolik says who, now say you.
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| Make me ill.
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| I take a sniff of a chopped proton pill
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| and go for some overkill.
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| When I puke nukes, spewing.
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| If you realise the power of local shit
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| till you’re blowing it out or proportion like a bloated bitch.
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| TV views, hate them more than before.
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| All you act like you’re zombies and board your doors.
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| Brains, brains.
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| Did I say its insane?
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| Jump on the bandwagon like Michael Jackson
|
| to make a change and heal the world.
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| Sue him for a fraction.
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| He’s a child molester.
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| Fuck you TV boy.
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| Fuck it.
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| It’s the end of my lecture,
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| get out.
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| Yeah, yeah
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| You step back as I enter the track
|
| and the spot’s so exact.
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| Its as if im attached, locked and latched.
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| Words be the perfect match.
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| Aint just hatched.
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| You’ll unscratch
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| and I got the type of flow to leave you satched.
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| To catch a glimpse of my blueprints and get the hints.
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| Came through the door in ninety four been rapping ever since.
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| Who got the nerve to even step to this here crew?
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| You sweat when we’re near you.
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| And left with severe bruise.
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| Appear through transparent fake MC.
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| Verbal jabs with the head will make em weak at the knees
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| and then they’ll buckle like a can in the fire.
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| You’re still stuck at the knuckle better plan to retire.
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| We on a standard that’s higher.
|
| Take you to another level on stairways.
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| Potent shit we’re tokin bound to clog up your airways.
|
| Fair to say,
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| we ain’t the type to fuck around.
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| When its time to get down,
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| you know who’ll bring the real sound.
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| Synchronise.
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| Burn turns truth to lies.
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| The crow flies straight in the Syllabolik skies
|
| I’m a big Hislop to Aussie hip hop beats.
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| Get battered like shark flesh at the fish and chip shop.
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| The rip off.
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| We serve your type here,
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| not with beer but a burning and a swift kick to the rear.
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| Show no fear.
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| Show no mercy at shows.
|
| Since the rhymes of the nursery I’ve been ripping the dope flows.
|
| Hope grows, but is soon dies off
|
| Cos like a pie in the microwave you’re too fucking soft.
|
| I Stand aloft
|
| and me dropping my burden
|
| is something you’ll never see like Ian Paisley in a turban.
|
| I’m wording crews up.
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| Herding yous up.
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| And yous get chewed up like a pokie does to your two bucks.
|
| Some crews jump
|
| and any rapper talking shit,
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| will drown in the rivers of the words I spit. |